Survivor
by Wilusa
Summary: This is a mini novelization of Highlander: Endgame, providing answers to many nagging questions. The answers are strictly my own. Part of my main universe.
1. Part 1

DISCLAIMER: _Highlander_ and its canon characters are the property of Davis/Panzer Productions; no copyright infringement is intended.

_**Note:**__ This fic contains spoilers for _Highlander: Endgame_ (the version released to theaters), and provides my answers to some nagging questions. It recognizes as canon only what we actually saw onscreen - not, for example, character biographies given at the film's website. I'm accepting Christopher Lambert's claim that the year of Connor's disappearance was meant to be 1992, the film's present 2002._

_I'll also say now that according to textbooks I've read, it is permissible to use a first-person narrator who's destined to die in the end..._

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"You, you, and you," Jacob ordered, "each bring three of the heads."

My stomach turned over, but I didn't think of refusing. I made myself walk toward the blood-soaked bodies. Unlike most permanently dead Immortals, these did have heads - severed from the trunks, but held in place by helmets bolted to their metal reclining frames.

Winston moved faster, wearing his usual broad smile. He was a thrill seeker, gung-ho for any new experience.

But Carlos scowled and asked, "Why?"

I stopped in my tracks.

I knew he didn't mean, "Why the three of us?" Winston, a dark-skinned Jamaican; him, a cocky brother from Watts; and me, Manny, a pot-luck racial mix who claimed to be Sioux. We always got the crappy assignments - that was just the way things were. We understood Jin Ke was special, two thousand years old, not one of Jacob Kell's students. And Cracker Bob was - well, he was _white_, and for all his showoffy ways and seventy-plus years, still a naive kid. For both those reasons, Jacob treated him like the son he'd never had. Our tough luck.

Right now, after the monster Quickenings he'd received, Jacob was barely able to stand. And we couldn't risk hanging around much longer. So if he was going to walk out of the place, Jin Ke and Bob would both have to support him.

That much was clear. What wasn't so obvious was why he wanted the heads.

I wouldn't have dared to ask. But Carlos had been asking a lot of questions lately. He was bright, maybe too bright for his own good.

Jacob didn't have the energy to give him a hard time. He said in a low voice, "MacLeod will take off when he gets free of that last restraint. The Watchers will be one body short, and I don't want them to know _which_ one. So you'll have to scatter some of them on the floor."

Carlos wasn't satisfied. He glanced over at Connor MacLeod, the only Immortal still alive on one of those reclining frames. We'd uncuffed MacLeod's hands and feet, but the helmet kept him trapped. Its bolts had been loosened by the jarring Quickenings, and he was pawing weakly at them, moaning. Tears ran down what we could see of his face, under the thing that looked like it should have been a visor, but was really solid iron. He couldn't see us.

Carlos said, "What makes you think he'll leave? He wanted to be here. He may just wait for some Watcher dudes to show up, drug him an' make him comfy again."

"No, he won't. He won't trust anyone after this - not the Watchers, not the idea of the Sanctuary. And he'll want to find and kill _us_." Jacob smirked. "Don't worry. He won't be able to."

"I ain't worried," Carlos growled. "Do you want we should cut the dead men's hands off an' bring them too, on account o' fingerprints?"

He may have meant that as sarcasm, but Jacob took it seriously. After some thought he said, "No. Good idea, but the Watchers won't have prints on file. It's not part of their _tradition_."

Winston walked by just then, with a ghoulish grin on his face. He held three heads at arm's length, by their long hair. Blood was streaming from them, and the stench made even Jacob gag.

Carlos and I collected the other six. I got stuck with the one head of a black guy. His nappy hair, crushed by his helmet, was no good as a handle. There was no chance of his body being mistaken for any of the others, but I decided not to risk riling Jacob by pointing that out.

Had to carry the damn thing cradled in my arms. And when I finally got rid of it, stashed with the rest in the trunk of Jacob's car, I threw up.

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It wasn't like me to be squeamish.

I'd learned to kill in 'Nam, never had a problem with it. I figured the U. S. Government had sent me there, much against my will, to kill people they believed were Commies or Commie sympathizers. The more I killed, the sooner I'd be able to go home. All I cared about was making it back to the States in one piece.

When my platoon got hit by grenades, and I came to without a scratch and was the only survivor, I figured I was lucky. Everyone else thought so too.

The first time.

When the same thing happened with a second platoon and then a third, I became very unpopular. My mates thought that if I wasn't actually some kind of traitor, I was a bad-luck charm for an outfit.

My fourth "close call" was different. That time I'd felt a half-dozen bullets rip into me. When I revived, I saw my fatigues had the holes to prove it. But once again, there was no trace of a wound.

And I wasn't the sole survivor. There were wounded GIs everywhere I turned, groaning, calling for help. I was sure some of them had seen me take the hit.

I didn't know what I was, except that I sure wasn't normal. I was already beginning to suspect that I'd died and come back to life - not once, but four times! How could I possibly explain that?

I didn't try. I left the wounded to fend for themselves, walked into the jungle, and never looked back.

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In the years that followed, I roamed the world - became a robber, a smuggler, a soldier of fortune. I learned new and interesting ways to kill. And I killed more than my share. But in the mercenary wars, I figured the morality of what we were doing was for someone else to judge. The people I took out on my own were thugs who would just as readily have killed me.

Every so often I'd run into a guy whose nearness caused a strange sensation in my head. They always seemed to have a reaction to me, too. I guessed that whatever I was, they were the same.

Most of them sized me up, apparently decided I looked dangerous, and left me alone. But a few came after me with swords. Two even issued polite challenges, like duelists out of the nineteenth century. I defended myself with my martial arts skills, and always came out on top - guess I surprised my opponents even more than they did me. But I knew I was leaving them only temporarily "dead."

I couldn't understand why they wanted to fight at all, let alone with swords. They'd slashed me a few times, and the cuts had healed as quickly as any other wound. Still, I was interested in a variety of weapons. So I stole a "dead" opponent's blade, and treated myself to a crash course in Hollywood swashbucklers.

As time went on, I made the happy discovery that I didn't age. So when I knew I looked too young to be a Vietnam-era deserter, I drifted back to the States.

And there, in 1988, I met Jacob.

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Jacob Kell was like me, of course. But he had the body of a man in his forties. Ordinary-looking, didn't strike me as much of a threat. I figured my reflexes were sure to be faster than his.

And I was proud of my new, self-taught swordfighting skills. So I decided this was the time to try them out, do battle using only the sword.

Bad mistake.

In less than a minute Jacob had me flat on my back, his sword at my throat. Then he began quietly laughing. "Just as I thought. You're not afraid. You don't even know how you can be killed, do you?"

Lucky for me, Jacob wasn't headhunting that day. He was looking for a student.

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In time I learned he had a knack for spotting new, untaught or poorly taught Immortals. And he was always on the lookout for students. He liked having anywhere from three to a half dozen, and he kept them around till they somehow got separated from the group and lost their heads. The ones still alive would never learn just _who_ had offed one of our friends.

We were grateful to Jacob. He told us what we were, Immortals with a capital _I_. He explained that there was a way we could be killed permanently, by beheading, and that others of our kind would be eager to kill us for our Quickenings. He helped us become fairly good swordsmen. I'd been using a sword whose size and weight were all wrong for me, and Jacob straightened me out.

He never discussed some things the other students whispered about - the Game, the Gathering, the Prize. Guess he didn't want us to think that down the road, he might be willing to kill us.

But he taught us what a Quickening is, and made it clear that receiving one is no fun. I recall his exact words. "You take a terrible pounding, physical and mental. Sometimes you have to fight to hang onto your identity. An Immortal is as weak as a baby for up to a half hour afterward."

So why was it desirable? Exact words again. "When you've had time to absorb the Quickening, it makes you stronger. You have all the power of the Immortal you killed, the ones he killed, the ones _they_ killed." We couldn't miss the greedy glint in his eyes when he talked about it.

We didn't fear him, though, because he'd explained how important students are to a strong Immortal. We were bound to him for life, he said, his life or ours. It was our job to beat up on his enemies, double- and triple-team them, wear them down. Then Jacob would come in with his sword and fight them one-on-one. He claimed that kind of fighting was fair - we were just making things a little easier for him, in fights he could have won anyway. In return, we were under his protection, safe from harm, not forced to take any of those brutal Quickenings ourselves. He always stressed that there was safety in numbers.

Jacob wasn't a stickler for etiquette. We heard that some Immortals wouldn't consider ganging up on an opponent, catching him unarmed or weakened by a Quickening. Our teacher scoffed at such notions.

But there was one concern he didn't sneer at.

On my first day with him he said gruffly, "We don't kill on holy ground. Not even mortals, on _anyone's_ holy ground.

"I suggest you remember that."

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Every student of Jacob's found out he had hangups about religion, and also about Connor MacLeod. At times he insisted he was a Catholic priest, just as validly ordained as the Pope in Rome. But other times he admitted he couldn't possibly be a priest in good standing, because MacLeod had driven him to take up the sword. He was now a "priest of hate." And it was all MacLeod's fault.

MacLeod, he said, had murdered his father in 1555. Not his biological father - none of us knew who our real parents were. But a priest named Rainey had raised Jacob, and MacLeod had killed this unarmed holy man. Jacob, also a priest by that time, had betrayed everything he believed in when he grabbed a sword and went after MacLeod. And MacLeod had dealt him his first death, run him through and left him there. MacLeod was still a fairly new Immortal himself, and hadn't realized what Jacob was. At least Jacob was sure - in our day - that if he'd known, he would have taken the extra minute to behead him. Why leave a potential enemy alive?

The young Jacob had honestly believed MacLeod was a demon, or had made a pact with demons. When _he_ came back to life, he was denounced and driven from their village, same as MacLeod. But with no one to teach him about Immortals, he still believed MacLeod was a demon, and had made him one of the undying ones for spite. He hated MacLeod and wanted revenge, but was afraid to do anything because he thought MacLeod had magical powers he didn't have. When he finally learned the truth, he was furious that he'd wasted a chance to hurt MacLeod by murdering his mortal wife. She'd died of old age after a fifty-year marriage, and Jacob never got over that missed opportunity.

His students couldn't quite understand why he didn't kill MacLeod - by fair means or foul - and put an end to it. But he wanted to torture the guy by hounding him through the centuries, murdering all his loved ones, with his victim never able to figure out who was doing it.

Someone - probably Carlos - once asked him the common sense question, "What if some other Immortal takes his head, and cheats you out of your final revenge?"

Jacob got really mad. He didn't want to consider that.

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This obsession with MacLeod had led to his discovering what he claimed was a major threat to us: a secret society of mortals called the Watchers. He'd learned of their existence in the early twentieth century, when he hired a private eye to shadow MacLeod, and the gumshoe reported someone else was tailing him as well.

I know now that the Watchers claim their mission is to chronicle the lives of Immortals. But Jacob said we should think of all of them as our enemies. Some wanted to kill all Immortals, and others had special Immortal friends that they helped by giving them information about the rest of us.

We never went out of our way to hunt Watchers. But we were always on the alert for them, and any who tried to spy on our little group ended up dead.

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In 1990, without knowing it, the Watchers did Jacob a big favor.

He'd been stalking the Chinese Immortal Jin Ke for weeks. We all knew he wanted the guy's Quickening, but he never admitted it. I think he was afraid that even all of us together wouldn't be able to take Jin. Sure, Jacob could have shot him from a rooftop, but he would have lost face. There was no way we would have believed his "just making it easier" line that time. Jin Ke was a legend, and no one imagined Jacob was his equal.

He was close to forgetting about Jin when he spotted someone else closing in on his quarry. A gang of mortal thugs - men he recognized as Watchers. They definitely had murder on their minds. And Jin, who didn't even know the organization existed, was a sitting duck. They brought him down with a tranquilizer dart. But when he was lying there barely conscious, about to lose his head, Jacob swooped in to the rescue.

One of the Watchers fired a dart into Jacob. But then all his students came charging out of an alley, and they took one look at us and fled.

Jacob managed to say, "Kill one! Quietly!" So Cracker Bob did. Ran him down, tackled him, then got up and clubbed him to death.

Turned out Jacob had wanted a dead body so he could show Jin the Watcher tattoo. I think those Watchers were renegades. But renegade or not, they'd tried to murder Jin. Jacob had risked his life to save him, _and_ given him information that could help him stay alive.

The result? As a matter of honor, Jin said his life belonged to the man who'd saved it. He swore eternal loyalty to Jacob, joined our group - and from that day on he was our secret weapon.

But in all our years together, I can't remember, once, having seen him smile.

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It was Jin who told me more about holy ground. I'd gotten the impression Jacob didn't want to talk about it - and it was never a good idea to press him. I wasn't even sure that taboo wasn't a personal quirk of his. So I asked Jin, and he confirmed that it had to be honored. Places of worship, monasteries, convents, cemeteries - even the sacred sites of the ancients, if we could identify them - were strictly off limits.

"We don't know what would happen if someone broke that rule," Jin explained. "But Immortals have believed for thousands of years that at the very least, a Quickening would kill the person receiving it and anyone else nearby. Many think the damage would be greater than that - destruction of an entire city, maybe, with all its people.

"There's a legend that a holy ground Quickening caused the volcanic eruption that buried Pompeii. No one knows for sure. But to be on the safe side, we don't even kill _mortals_ on holy ground."

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We gained another unusual recruit in the spring of '92. One of those mortal private eyes Jacob hired to spy on Connor MacLeod saw him argue with a beautiful woman in a restaurant. Jacob decided to check her out, and got close enough to realize she was Immortal. She'd sensed him too, so he approached her and struck up a conversation.

He learned the woman, Kate Devaney, hated Connor's onetime student _Duncan_ MacLeod almost as much as he did Connor. Back in 1715, Duncan - without having told her she was a pre-Immortal, without a word of warning - had stabbed her through the heart on their wedding night. She'd never forgiven him; Connor had been trying without success to talk her out of her grudge.

Even centuries after her breakup with Duncan, Kate had the notion that if he hadn't done what he did, she would have been able to bear children - to a mortal father - and might never have become Immortal. And she still believed she would have preferred to grow old and die, permanently, with a mortal husband. Her ideas were flat-out wrong, but Jacob wasn't about to correct her.

When we students heard about this Duncan MacLeod, we wondered why he hadn't stayed with Connor all his life, as we were expected to do with Jacob. Jacob had an answer - that Connor wasn't worthy of a student's loyalty. He said Duncan had probably found out he'd murdered a priest.

Thinking of religion...within weeks, Kate vowed allegiance not only to Jacob, but to his "church of hate." When she changed her name to Faith, that was the one she meant.

Faith hadn't seen much of Connor MacLeod over the years, but she was able to tell Jacob his most closely guarded secrets: how deeply he cared for both Duncan and his own adopted daughter, Rachel. Jacob had still been afraid of Connor in the early seventeenth century. He'd learned after the fact that Connor had been Duncan's teacher, but assumed he'd later lost interest in him. As for Rachel, Connor had given out the story that he'd inherited a dead girlfriend's child and been stuck with her. Jacob had bought into that, because he had no use for kids himself. And she'd been raised as Rachel Wallingford. It was Faith who told Jacob that Connor's business partner Rachel Ellenstein - her original family name - was the same person, and that Connor loved her and always had.

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And so, in October '92, Jin and I had our first up-close-and-personal experience with Jacob's vendetta. He didn't tell Faith till the deed was done.

All of us - even Faith - knew that in '87, he'd used a stolen car to run down and kill Connor MacLeod's latest wife. He'd deliberately done it when MacLeod was close enough to sense him as he whizzed by.

But it was one thing to hear about that from Cracker Bob, another to listen to Jacob gloat as he put together a bomb that would blow up MacLeod's New York antique shop and kill the man's daughter. This time, he said, it wouldn't matter whether MacLeod was nearby, because there would be no way he could imagine the death was accidental. And yet he'd never guess who was behind it, because he thought Jacob had died in 1555.

The perfect crime.

I think I managed not to look as sick as Jin Ke did.

Jacob put the plan on hold, temporarily, when he learned Duncan had come to New York to look into some investment possibilities. He thought about killing both Connor's loved ones on the same day. But he finally decided to let the younger MacLeod live, so he'd be sure of having another way to hurt Connor in the future.

We had observed that Rachel always began her lunch break a half hour before MacLeod and came back ahead of him, to cut the time the shop would have to be closed. That changed on the first of the three days Duncan was in town - they all ate together. But then they went back to the normal schedule, the only difference being that the two MacLeods met for lunch.

When the shop was only going to be closed for an hour or so, they didn't bother activating the alarm. And we'd discovered the lock was a kind that could easily be forced. Once upon a time, Hudson had been a street where no one would risk a break-in in broad daylight; MacLeod hadn't noticed how much it had changed.

Jacob's plan was to sneak in during the lunch hour and connect his explosive device to their phone. After that, any answered call would set off the bomb. But he said Rachel had to get the call before MacLeod came back, so there wouldn't be any chance of the blast taking his head off.

There weren't many cell phones around in 1992 - Jacob didn't have one. He did have a car phone. He could have made that call from the car, parked across the street.

But he wanted to test Jin Ke. So he insisted Jin, Bob and I be in the car, clear around the corner, while he lurked near the antique shop with a two-way radio. When he alerted us Rachel was there, _Jin_ had to make the call. If he couldn't do it, if Bob or I had to, Bob would have told Jacob.

Jin made the call.

Even at the distance we were, the explosion shattered the windshield.

We were cleaning up broken glass - and our own blood - when Jacob joined us, looking exultant. By a wonderful stroke of luck, he said, Connor had been approaching the shop when the bomb went off. It had blown him off his feet. But he hadn't been knocked out, and Jacob had been able to hear his anguished screams for Rachel.

Once again, Connor had been close enough to sense his adversary - maybe even catch a glimpse of his retreating back.

And once again, he wouldn't have a clue who it was.

I never talk much, so I don't think Jacob noticed Bob was the only one jabbering happily with him as we drove away.

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That night, we all heard Faith's reaction. "You said you were going to frame Rachel for fraud!" she raged. To the rest of us, she said bitterly, "He told me he'd make it look as if she'd bilked customers by delivering phony antiques and reselling the real ones, without Connor's knowledge. He swore he wouldn't kill her. A woman I'd met and liked!"

But she'd been willing to send a woman she liked to prison on a trumped-up charge? And possibly turn Connor against her, which might have been even more painful?

Jacob laughed at her. "I thought you'd want deniability. Are you really unhappy about it? I'm sure you'd feel differently if I'd killed Duncan's mortal lover. Would you like me to kill her for you?"

"N-no. No!" I could see this was the first she'd heard of a lover, and she was fighting the urge to ask him to tell her more. Whether or not there really was one, he was toying with her.

He snickered and turned away. "That's up to you, but don't say I never offered."

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A few days later, I happened to be with Cracker Bob - the usual recipient of Jacob's confidences. And Jacob told us Faith had finally broken down and asked for details.

"I told her Duncan's living with a beautiful _blonde_," he said. "Calls her the great love of his life. And they've been together twelve years, so he must have leveled with her about his Immortality.

"Faith brooded a while, then said she _did_ want me to kill the woman.

"But I told her that was a one-time offer. If she wants Tessa Noel dead now, she'll have to do it herself.

"If she has the guts."

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By then Jacob's good humor was a thing of the past. Right after the bombing, Connor MacLeod disappeared. For the first time in three hundred years, Jacob lost track of him. And that was when everything began spinning out of control.

The police didn't mount much of a search. They soon decided MacLeod wasn't a suspect in the murder, and there was no evidence he himself had met with foul play.

Then Jacob made a big mistake. He probably could have discovered the truth long before he did if he'd used old-fashioned methods. But he decided his best bet was to hack into the Watchers' computer files.

There he learned that MacLeod's Watcher, a woman named Dana Brook, had told her superiors she didn't know what had become of him. She and other members of the organization were discussing three ideas. One was that a depressed MacLeod had picked a fight with some unknown Immortal, let down his guard, and allowed his foe to take his head. Another, that he'd persuaded Duncan to take it. But the argument against both those theories was that the other Immortal's Watcher - assuming he had one, and Duncan certainly did - should have seen and reported it.

The third possibility was that he'd gone into seclusion, perhaps in a monastery. That was what Jacob wanted to believe - that his victim was still alive.

Duncan took over payment of property taxes on the ruined antique shop, suggesting he too was at least clinging to hope. But his Watcher wasn't aware of any contact between the MacLeods.

Even knowing for sure Connor was alive would have been small consolation for Jacob. If he was in a monastery, it could be any one of thousands..._and there was no way to hurt him. _In a cloister, he wouldn't even hear of an enemy's killing Duncan.

Jacob could only seethe in impotent fury.

His moods grew darker.

And we saw him become more and more unbalanced during his decade-long search for Connor MacLeod.

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We spent those years spying on Duncan - mostly just tapping his phone, and hacking into both his e-mail and his Watcher's Chronicle - and investigating the backgrounds of monks. Thousands of individual monks. That chore could drive anyone nuts...and our leader had been none too stable to begin with.

He made me nervous when he started talking about a way to get around the holy ground prohibition. If he identified the monastery, he said, he'd hire a mortal to set it afire - forcing the monks to flee. He didn't spell out what he'd do after that.

I found myself hoping he never would identify it.

By October 2002, Jacob was at the snapping point. That was when he did what he should - from his point of view - have done in the first place.

He snatched Dana Brook and used truth serum on her.

The results were startling. It turned out Brook's online chats with her bosses about MacLeod's mysterious disappearance had been bull - on her side. She'd known where he was all along.

Connor MacLeod had been one of the handful of Immortals who knew about the Watchers. Jacob didn't ask how he'd learned about them, or when. What mattered was that in '92, he knew about the organization and was acquainted with Dana Brook. She spoke to him after Rachel's death, and he said he was going into a monastery. He meant to let Duncan leave New York without telling him anything, then send a letter to his Seacouver address, explaining his plans and asking Duncan to leave him in peace.

But an hour later, Brook received a phone call from a man named Matthew Hale. After going through some rigmarole to convince her he was a high-ranking Watcher, Hale inquired how MacLeod was coping with his daughter's death. When she told him, he told _her_ about the top-secret Sanctuary - and ordered her to recruit MacLeod. Brook didn't like the idea, but Hale made it clear she had no choice.

Even knowing the potency of the truth serum, Jacob and the rest of us found the story hard to believe. Brook said the Sanctuary had existed for a thousand years - been moved from France, during World War II, to a site near New York. A former Capuchin monastery, though the "monks" there now were really an elite corps of Watchers.

The few Immortals who'd gone into it were guaranteed safety on holy ground. And more than that, in an underground bunker - which meant that no one but the Watchers could be routed by fire. The Immortals were lovingly cared for, but kept drugged and restrained. The idea was that if the Gathering was a real possibility, and posed a threat to mortals, no Immortal would ever become the last survivor and win the Prize.

Volunteering to be a captive zombie seemed like the stuff of nightmares. Staying alive had always been my top priority, but what kind of life was _that?_

Still, Connor MacLeod had jumped at the chance. On reflection, I thought I understood why. Since he didn't know Jacob was alive, he must have despaired of ever identifying his enemy. With Rachel gone, Duncan was the one person left that he cared for - and the best way to protect him was to go into hiding, in this most secure of retreats. Safer even than a monastery, because so few people knew of its existence.

If he had chosen instead to die, an enemy who'd learned beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was dead might have turned on Duncan out of sheer frustration. Besides, by going into the Sanctuary, Connor could tell himself he was making a sacrifice for a noble ideal.

So he did it, but mailed his original letter to Duncan. He told Duncan he was going into a monastery headed by an Immortal they both knew, a Brother Paul. Duncan didn't worry about him until almost two years later - when he spoke to Paul and learned Connor had made an inquiry, but never followed up on it.

By then Duncan had become friendly with his own Watcher, Joe Dawson. He asked Dawson if the Watchers had any information on Connor, and Dawson told him - truthfully - that to the best of his knowledge, they didn't.

Brook said Duncan was still in the dark, but not unduly alarmed. According to Dawson, he thought Connor had deliberately thrown him off the track by mentioning one monastery, then gone into another.

After we learned all that, I was sure Jacob would kill Dana Brook. He surprised me - released her unharmed. Then he explained that her disappearance would have aroused suspicion. As it was, we were in no danger. No Watcher would dare tell her superiors she'd been kidnapped and had revealed secrets.

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Jacob was calmer than I'd expected. That made me uneasy.

Connor MacLeod had thwarted him...hadn't he? He was safe on holy ground, with no possibility of his hearing about anything Jacob did. If he'd been in a monastery, he might eventually have left - probably sooner rather than later, because a man with no real vocation would have been bored out of his skull. But there was no chance of his leaving the Sanctuary. Whether the Watchers would have held him against his will was a moot point; Immortals there couldn't change their minds, because they were never fully conscious.

Jin began trying to convince Jacob _he_ had actually won. Driven MacLeod to condemn himself to a living death.

But Jacob wasn't listening. When Jin had been talking for ten minutes, he cut in and said simply, "We're going to raid the Sanctuary."

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At that moment, I think Jin came close to walking out.

But Jacob quickly assured us there'd be no killing on holy ground. Jin was the only one of his followers he'd expect to fight at all, and even he would just have to knock out some Watchers. Jacob guessed there wouldn't be many of the phony monks, since their sole duty was to care for comatose Immortals. But they would be heavily armed.

His plan was that Cracker Bob, newer students Carlos and Winston, and I would charge up to the place on motorcycles, acting like Hell's Angels gone mad. We'd scare the Watchers into not just "killing" us, but using up most of their ammo on men who hadn't touched them.

Then Jin Ke, who even I admitted was our best martial artist, would come riding up. He'd actually fight, and disable - temporarily - as many opponents as he could. Probably, he too would eventually be "killed."

Even if the Watchers suspected what we were, they'd feel a false sense of security after defeating Jin. But while they were distracted, Jacob would have sneaked onto the scene, disguised as another "monk." He'd take out - again, temporarily - the ones who were still standing, before they had time to remove our heads.

And then? Jacob said we'd find MacLeod and the other drugged Immortals, truss them up, and drag as many as we could off holy ground. When MacLeod came to, we'd force him to watch while we executed the others - telling him it was because of him, his fault. He'd be crushed. And Jacob, wearing a monk's hood, would still be able to conceal his identity.

For all the plan's cruelty, it sounded safe enough for us.

Carlos and Winston hadn't been around in '92.

Cracker Bob believed every word that came out of his leader's mouth.

I couldn't read Jin Ke.

But I kept remembering Jacob's lie to Faith about Rachel Ellenstein...

Then I told myself not to worry. What he said he meant to do seemed - not _reasonable_, but workable.

And it was, after all, he himself who'd taught me never to kill on holy ground.

Sure.

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We rode out to attack the Sanctuary on the tenth anniversary of MacLeod's disappearance. October in the Catskills - I've heard it can be beautiful. But on that day a choking fog hung everywhere. What foliage we saw was dull, dead brown...the color of monks' robes.

A maze of dusty back roads brought us to our destination: a crumbling pile of dirty gray stone, its main entrance marked by flickering torches. It wouldn't have looked out of place in the Middle Ages.

An abode of ghosts.

But there was nothing ghostly about its Watcher guardians. When we went into our bikers-from-hell routine, a half-dozen of them rushed to defend the place, whipping astonishingly big guns out from under those robes. As expected, they were more than ready to kill - and overkill. They riddled me with bullets at close range. When I came to, I felt like a pincushion.

But I didn't have much time to feel sorry for myself. Bob was standing over me, saying in a scared voice, "All these Watchers are dead."

Jin hadn't revived yet, but we didn't need to be told he wasn't the culprit.

Winston was sure Jacob had continued on into the monastery. We stood around debating whether the outdoors - where he'd killed the Watchers - really was holy ground, or only inside.

A very sober Jin Ke joined us. He said that based on his two thousand years' experience, all a monastery's property had to be considered sacred. And that held true even if it was no longer a real monastery. All that mattered - as with the holy places of ancient cultures - was that we had a way of knowing it had once been a site devoted to prayer or meditation.

"So there's no shit goes down if you kill mortals on holy ground." Carlos sounded as if he was filing away the information, but would have preferred not to know.

"If Jacob's really all right in there," Jin said grimly.

None of us wanted to follow Jacob into that building. But crossing him didn't seem like a particularly good idea, either.

So when Jin strode toward the door, we were all at his heels.

x

x

x

As we prowled through empty, gloomy corridors, I felt the spirits of _real_ Capuchins hovering all around us. I could almost hear their angry murmurs. And I didn't know who made me more nervous, the dead, or those mysterious _un_dead somewhere below.

We descended two flights of rickety stairs without sensing other Immortals.

Then, in the dim light, Winston almost fell through an open trapdoor. Jin caught him in the nick of time. But we figured Jacob had left it open for us, so we all scrambled through it and down a seemingly endless ladder.

We emerged in a tunnel hewn out of solid rock, lit by more of those spooky torches.

And at last we sensed the others. There was no doubt which way we should go.

Even so, we walked for what seemed like five minutes. Then the tunnel opened out, and we found ourselves in a vast, eerie cavern where every footfall produced an echo. It was lit by electricity, but the lights weren't much more than bare bulbs, strung haphazardly along the rough ceiling.

We hardly noticed that. All our attention was drawn to our fellow Immortals. Those who had a right to be there...and the one who did not.

x

x

x

That first glimpse of the Sanctuary dwellers made my blood run cold. I hadn't known what to expect, but the reality was more ghastly than my worst imaginings.

Dana Brook had been unsure how many there were. I counted ten. All men, I decided, though the absence of noticeable breasts was the main clue. They wore near-identical brown jumpsuits.

They were reclining, strapped to metal frames arranged in a semicircle. Conscious, they couldn't have been comfortable. But I knew they were never conscious.

When the Sanctuary was moved from Europe, maybe? Had the old Immortals been wakened and told what was going on, or transported in their sleep? If some had been confined for a thousand years, they wouldn't have known what "America" was.

One thing for sure - in their drugged stupor, they were conditioned to accept a background sensation of other Immortals. The arrival of several more didn't rouse them.

Their wrists and ankles were cuffed, helmets bolted down, faces mostly concealed. Some of them had shockingly long hair, beards, and even fingernails; others did not. I guessed that had less to do with age than with the whims of their caregivers. What other outlet for creativity did the Watchers have?

Each of those grotesque beds was surrounded by a tangle of IV tubing. I gagged at the thought of healthy men being kept alive by intravenous feeding - sedated, _stoned_. A travesty of hospital care.

The full horror of it was driven home when I saw muscles twitching spasmodically, just like those of real coma patients. I had to look away.

But the only other place to look was at Jacob, and he disturbed me even more.

x

x

x

Jacob was openly gloating, mocking the foolish Immortals who'd chosen this retreat. Sneering at their helplessness.

I hoped desperately that he'd go back to his plan, take them far away before he killed them. It was _Quickenings_ on holy ground that were the real danger...

He wouldn't risk his life and all of ours, would he?

Cracker Bob slunk half behind Carlos and rested his chin on his shoulder. A scared kid hiding behind an adult.

I think that was when I knew what was going to happen.

"Which one is Connor MacLeod?" Jacob demanded of no one in particular. He loosened some of the bolts on the helmet nearest him, and raised the visor.

The man's eyes fluttered open in shock, then closed again. Still only half-conscious, he moaned a protest against the light. He didn't sense danger, didn't struggle against his restraints.

Jacob's sword clove through his neck.

Dying, he made a sound that was half-gasp, half-gurgle.

Every conscious Immortal - except Jacob - let out some kind of cry.

And that was enough to revive one of the trapped victims. We saw his fists clench and his body stiffen, heard his tortured growl.

The one who'd been in the Sanctuary the shortest time, who hadn't drifted as far from reality as his companions..._Connor MacLeod_.

Jacob gave an exultant whoop. And then he moved faster than I thought possible. Before he could be struck by the Quickening, he raced down the row of defenseless men, severing more heads that couldn't fall. Nine of them! He skipped only MacLeod - who was, by that time, blood-spattered and screaming.

I heard myself cursing those idiot Watchers. Why hadn't they used helmets that protected the vulnerable necks?

What would have happened if Jacob had been forced to spend five minutes removing armor before he could make his first kill? Would we have found our courage, overpowered and stopped him?

I'll never know.

My gaze was riveted on him until Bob, moaning, clutched me and made me look back at the first victim.

The dead body was convulsing, as trapped Quickening lightning started to _ooze_ from the bloody cut that ringed its neck. The bolts attached to helmet and cuffs began a chorus of angry rattles.

Other corpses - one, two, three - reached the same stage. And suddenly, shrapnel-like bolts were flying in all directions. I dove for cover as one of them ripped my cheek open. But only some had popped out; none of the dead were freed, and they continued their mindless jiggling.

Then came bolts of another kind - savage lightning that rent the bodies as it erupted and streaked toward Jacob. Its crackling strands collided, ricocheted, grazed and burned every one of us before finding their mark.

But somehow, when their combined force tore into him, he kept his feet. He was the only one who did.

x

x

x

The cavern shook with the force of an earthquake. The lights overhead exploded and showered us with glass; ominous rumbles came from further above.

As the lightning abated I lay still in the rubble, not daring to breathe. I fully expected the ceiling and the entire monastery to fall on us.

But gradually, the tremors stopped. That underground shelter had been meant to withstand nuclear war, and even the Quickenings of nine men - on holy ground - couldn't bring it down. In the pitch blackness, I heard someone or something scuttle toward the tunnel. And after an eternity Jin was back with torches, announcing in a fairly steady voice that our escape route was intact.

I realized I wasn't about to die. But then I faced another fear. The wounds I'd suffered - the cut cheek, the lightning burns - weren't healing as quickly as usual. What if...what if they _never_ healed?

Fortunately, the healing began before I could start blubbering.

As for Jacob, he hadn't suffered a single burn; he was weak but euphoric.

I hoped he'd regain his strength quickly, so we could get the hell out of there. MacLeod was sobbing, and I had a hunch I'd hear his sobs in my dreams.

x

x

x

That flimsy ladder hadn't survived. But we couldn't have climbed it anyway, with Jacob needing help and some of us carrying severed heads. And I wouldn't have bet on the stability of the monastery stairs, or the building itself. So we explored tunnel branches till we found one that brought us out on the hillside, hundreds of yards below.

Clean, fresh air was a blessed relief...but too little, too late. Like I said, I dumped my load in the car trunk and then dumped another load. It wasn't just because of the heads. It was the culmination of hours of stress and terror and plain old disgust.

All Jacob's followers were in shock. He'd taken Quickenings on holy ground, and shown that nothing bad would happen as a result. That was a stunning revelation. But it didn't change the fact that he'd risked all our lives.

Now he announced that he didn't feel able to drive, so Jin would have to. "We should leave one motorcycle in any case," he said smugly. "For MacLeod."

Turned out Jin's bike had been pretty much blown to smithereens. But all the others were usable. We left one, and Bob and Carlos doubled up.

As we headed back to New York, the little procession following Jacob's car wobbled all over the road.

x

x

x

Under the circumstances, our New York hideout gave me a worse than usual case of the creeps. We were squatting in an unfinished, abandoned "cathedral" - the brainchild of a TV preacher who'd been exposed as a con man. He'd never planned to complete construction. Most contributions to his high-profile Building Fund had gone instead to pay for his yacht and private jet.

The structure wasn't really safe for human occupancy; only Jacob had explored beyond the small area he'd pronounced sound and secretly furnished. He'd chosen it as a residence because Immortals unfamiliar with the city would take it to be holy ground. I knew it wasn't; it had never been consecrated or used for services. But it looked enough like the real thing to be a constant reminder of Jacob's sacrilege.

Maybe that was why someone - Carlos, of course - worked up the nerve to confront him. "Why'd you do what you did today? Why'd you risk gettin' us killed?"

I winced. The real reason seemed obvious. The frustration of the past ten years had been more than Jacob could handle. When he had a chance to vent his rage on the Watchers, and then on MacLeod, he'd lost all semblance of self-control.

But he'd never admit that.

"I had to kill those Watchers," he said, "because the place was larger than I expected. I knew we'd need time to find the Immortals, and they would have gotten reinforcements before we were ready to leave.

"And the Immortals? I changed my plan when I saw how many there were. Too many to take them all with us - but few enough that I could behead all but MacLeod before I was hit by the first Quickening."

"But it was holy ground!" Carlos exploded.

_"I was once a priest,"_ Jacob spat out. "A man of God...lost forever because MacLeod's wickedness drove me to take up the sword.

"And now he dared to exploit the trappings of religion! To hide in the bowels of a monastery, guarded by sham clergy armed with machine guns. It was they who profaned holy ground, not I."

Profaned it? Arguably, both sides had done that. But the Watchers had only resorted to violence to defend their helpless charges. Even if they shot first, we'd been the real aggressors.

And Jacob had committed mass murder.

x

x

x

Carlos turned away, muttering under his breath.

But then Jacob said something else. In a tight voice that was barely more than a whisper, he continued, "I'd killed on holy ground once before..."

Carlos was back like a shot, and we all clustered around.

Jacob stood gazing out what should have been a stained glass window - but in fact had no glass at all - at the pollution-clogged East River. "You see," he went on in an eerie monotone, "I never had a teacher. It was pure luck that I survived as an Immortal. Before I could be drawn into a fight, I witnessed one - that was how I learned about beheadings and Quickenings.

"After that I expected every Immortal I met to want my Quickening. But I didn't know how to use a sword. And I'd been driven out of my village - where I'd never known any life but the priesthood. Didn't know how to farm, didn't have a trade.

"So I turned to robbery. What else was there? And I surrounded myself with mortal criminals. When I sensed other Immortals I had my henchmen disable them, and I took their heads. Murdered them."

He'd never opened up like this before - not even, I could see, to Cracker Bob. We hung on every word.

"With time," he told us, "I became a better fighter. And I absorbed some knowledge I needed from Quickenings. But what you pick up that way, mostly, are things the Immortal you've killed was consciously thinking about, not background knowledge.

"I only learned about the holy ground taboo when I killed a man in a cemetery. He _was_ thinking about it, but I thought he was fleeing out of panic. His Quickening told me what I'd done."

Then he shrugged. In something closer to his usual contemptuous tone, he added, "Until today, I wasn't sure whether there's _never_ a penalty for killing on holy ground, or I'd been excused that once because I'd done it in ignorance. Now we know."

x

x

x

He was silent so long that everyone but me drifted away.

And he forgot I was there. I'm sure he was talking to himself - and that murky river - when he said, "If I'd known from the start that holy ground was a refuge all Immortals honored, I would have gone into a monastery and stayed there. Happily! The sins of my youth could have been forgiven - even my trying to kill MacLeod.

"But by the time I found out, it was too late."


	2. Part 2

By evening my buddies and I had recovered from our shock and settled down to watch the news reports. According to geologists, the Catskills had experienced a small quake - its epicenter near, or perhaps directly under, the monastery of the Brothers of the Holy Covenant. A spokesman for the order, a Brother Matthew, was interviewed on two channels. He said piously that thanks to the intercession of a loving God, they'd sustained no injuries and only minor damage.

Jin pointed out that this guy was undoubtedly Matthew Hale. Knowing he was no more a monk than we were, we cheerfully hissed and booed his acting. But in truth, he was pretty darn good.

We had to quit horsing around when Jacob joined us. He took a quick look at the TV, gave a self-satisfied nod, and shut it off.

"This day has brought more rewards than I expected," he told us. "My only goals were to get MacLeod out of the Sanctuary and torture him while I was doing it. That plan succeeded admirably.

"But now I'm learning that the Immortals whose heads I took were older and stronger than I'd dared to hope. If they'd had time to shake off the drugs, some of those men could have killed us using only their minds! They wouldn't even have needed to break their cuffs - though they could have done that, too." His lip curled in a cruel smile. "When I've fully absorbed those Quickenings, I'll be the most powerful individual who's ever lived."

Cracker Bob said, "That's awesome."

We all murmured agreement. For once, I reflected, that overused word was appropriate.

But my own choice would have been "terrifying."

Carlos spoke up and asked, "Do you mean to kill on holy ground again?"

Jacob seemed surprised by the question. "Of course," he said idly. "There's no penalty." Then his eyes narrowed. "All holy ground is profaned by Immortals who cower there. One who sought them out and killed them would be cleansing it...like Christ driving the money changers from the Temple."

I'm no Bible scholar, but I knew Christ didn't _kill_ those money changers. In the Temple or anywhere else.

x

x

x

Jacob's announcement had put a damper on the conversation. So he took an unresisting Faith by the hand, pulled her to her feet, and led her off toward his room.

I had never received a Quickening, but I recalled Jin telling me they make you horny.

So, I thought, there is some justice in the world. Faith might have been spared the grueling day we'd had, but her night would be ten times more exhausting.

A couple of the guys snickered. Jin looked sorrowful. I don't think he was in love with Faith; if he was, he wouldn't have admitted it even to himself. But he was the only one of us who viewed her as some kind of lady, and truly sympathized with her grudge against Duncan MacLeod.

x

x

x

It was only half past ten, but most of us were tired enough to think about bed.

Jacob had furnished a luxurious bedroom for himself, and an almost equally fancy one - connecting, of course - for Faith. They also had a private bath, complete with tub and shower.

Jacob kept his door locked at night. I suspected that when he let down his guard in sleep, even Faith was on the other side of a locked door.

Probably one that could only be locked from his side.

The rest of us had to sleep in a single room. Our bathroom was at the end of a long corridor, and had only a toilet and handbasin. No showers for us. Hell, if we'd walked just a little farther, we could have used one of the many holes in the floor and relieved ourselves directly into the sewer system.

That night I thought of going out and peeing in the alley, then taking a walk - just to give myself a break from the presence of other Immortals. We could sense each other throughout the safe section of the building, and it felt stifling at times. I fantasized about that walk maybe bringing me to a brothel, so Jacob wouldn't be the only one getting some action.

But in the end I was too lazy to do it, and I plodded down the hall to use the facilities.

I came fully alert when I heard a murmur behind that closed door.

Someone having a private conversation in the bathroom? Why? We'd never kept secrets from one another. And there definitely wasn't any sexual hanky-panky going on - we were all straight. We'd been together long enough to leave no doubt about that.

Then I remembered I'd left Jin, Bob and Winston asleep. If Carlos was in the john, he was alone. He had to be listening to a radio, a CD player or something.

So he expected to sit for a while. Some people bring books, some radios. No big deal.

I almost turned away, headed for a hole in the floor or that alley.

But then the voice behind the door spoke up a little louder. "I couldn't give you no warning! Jacob didn't give _us_ none."

Carlos wasn't listening to the radio. He was talking on a cell phone.

What in God's name was he saying?

x

x

x

I pressed an ear to the door. My heart was pounding so I almost expected Carlos to hear it.

"Yeah, MacLeod was definitely there. An' Jacob didn't kill him... No, I can't swear he didn't stay an' wait for the Watchers, but Jacob seemed sure he wouldn't. Left him a motorcycle... Oh shit, I never thought o' that! You think they'll be after _him?..._

"Not yet, not a clue. I'll let you know when I do. But Jacob's crazy, man. Thinks he's gonna be the most powerful Immortal what ever lived...

"No, I'm not tryin' to put the bite on you for more money. He really is dangerous, an' I don't know whether I'm more scared to leave him or to stay. But it ain't about money now. This guy's a threat to the world...

"Right. Soon as I know an' can get away to use the phone, you'll know."

It sounded as if he was close to signing off, so I beat a hasty retreat. I still needed to pee, but I knew the only safe course was to hold it. I raced back to our room, and when Carlos strolled in I appeared to be sound asleep.

In fact, I lay awake all night.

x

x

x

Next day I let myself hope Jacob would forget about Connor MacLeod for a generation or so. But I knew better than to expect it.

So I wasn't surprised when we found him on the computer, hacking into Joe Dawson's latest report.

"Ahh." A smile spread slowly across his face. "Duncan has left Paris. He's on his way here, after a stopover in London for some reason. To get funds, perhaps?

"According to Dawson, he's just coming to New York because the tenth anniversary of his teacher's disappearance has him down in the dumps. Wants to visit the antique shop and loft again, look for clues, so forth and so on. But we know what's really going on."

"We do?" Bob sounded confused.

"Connor must have gotten in touch with him," Jacob explained. His eyes were glittering in anticipation. "Probably didn't want to draw him into this, but had to because he needs money. We can assume they've made plans to meet at the loft that was Connor's home, so we'll be there to ambush whoever arrives first.

"And then...I think the time has come to reveal my identity. After that, I'll make Connor watch while I kill his precious student. Kill him_ slowly_."

I knew that by kill, he meant murder.

During the last decade, the younger MacLeod had become one of the most powerful living Immortals. The Quickenings Jacob had taken in the Sanctuary - not yet fully assimilated - might or might not have made him strong enough to defeat him in a fair fight.

But Jacob wouldn't take a chance on that. Wouldn't even exert himself, because his pride wasn't involved. Fanatic that he was, he saw Duncan only as someone whose death would hurt Connor. All Duncan's Immortality meant to him was that he'd have to be murdered in a different way than Brenda or Rachel.

He advanced to the next screen. "More good news. Dawson isn't coming with him." When Duncan didn't want a friend joined at the hip, Dawson often trusted him to Watch himself. It was the only way to handle a relationship like theirs. Normally, the odds were overwhelmingly against the Highlander's being killed. If one day he was, the other Immortal would have a Watcher who'd report it.

Unless the other Immortal was Jacob Kell.

"He's not asking anyone in New York to Watch him," Jacob mused. "So Dawson must really believe it's a routine trip. And that means we won't have to deal with Duncan's leading Watchers to _us_."

I glanced at Carlos, saw him taking it all in.

Who the hell was he working for? Not the Watchers...the _police?_

x

x

x

I couldn't take not knowing. So I kept an eye on him till he drifted off to the bathroom. Then I followed him and listened at the door again.

He was on the phone, but keeping his voice lower. He had the brains to know he wasn't as safe during the day.

I hung in there while he mumbled unintelligibly. There was a long pause while the person on the other end was talking. Then Carlos's voice rose; he let out a string of oaths.

At last he said, "I'll take care of it... No, don't think about payin' me. Things have gone too far. Someone's gotta take a stand."

I strained to hear what would come next.

Turned out that was unnecessary. What came next was Carlos's opening the door.

I practically fell into his arms.

x

x

x

I don't know which of us was more scared. But I got the door closed, both of us in the bathroom. Then I blurted out, "I won't tell on you."

After a long silence, he said, "How much did you hear?"

"Not much," I admitted. I kept my voice no louder than a whisper. "But I got a little last night too. I know you're working with someone against Jacob. I can't fight him myself, and I don't dare walk out on him. But I'm sure as hell not happy with what he did in the Sanctuary. Especially his risking all our lives.

"I won't say anything, but I have to know. Who are you working for? Have you been a mole all along?"

"From the start? Hell, no." He was shifting nervously from one foot to the other. "An' later, all I was thinkin' of was pickin' up a little extra money. The dude just wanted information. It wasn't like he was after my teacher's head."

_"Who?"_

He sighed. "Another Immortal. Name of Adam Pierson."

Once that much was out, Carlos seemed to relax. I think he was glad, finally, to have someone to confide in. "I've only met this Pierson guy once. British - leastways he's got a British accent. I get the impression he's pretty old, so maybe he didn't always talk like he does now.

"His interest in this is that he's a friend o' Duncan MacLeod. He's been payin' me for a couple years, since he got wind o' Jacob's searchin' for Connor. I was just keepin' him informed. He wanted to be sure Jacob didn't get so antsy that he'd go after his pal Duncan."

I felt a chill. "Does Pierson seem willing to fight Jacob? As a last resort?"

"Maybe. But he's never wanted to. He said he'd quit takin' heads for a few centuries, mostly to shake the Watchers. He has fought an' killed some recently. But he's not as solid with his sword skills as he woulda been five hundred years ago."

"So you told him about the Sanctuary," I prodded.

"Yeah. He knew it existed. He'd never mentioned it before, but when I called last night, he said he'd guessed Connor was there.

"He was as freaked out as us to learn that nothin' much happens when you kill on holy ground. But then he thought about somethin' we hadn't. He said he knows the Watchers well, an' they'll do _anything_ to keep this under wraps. To protect the idea of holy ground as a safe refuge. They'll kill anyone who's learned the truth, even their old friend Connor MacLeod."

I sat down hard. On the toilet. "Jesus."

"Plus," Carlos continued, "he's checked with a few contacts since yesterday. He's sure they've figured out which Immortal wasn't beheaded, an' who was behind the raid. The top Watcher brass had known all along that Jacob has it in for MacLeod, wants to hurt an' not kill him. An' none o' the other Immortals had enemies still alive."

I needed a minute to absorb that. "You're saying...the Watchers knew about Jacob? They could have told MacLeod who his enemy was, so he could fight him! But they kept him in the dark and let him throw his life away. _Urged _him into their damn Sanctuary - that was just as much 'interfering' as telling him about Jacob would have been."

"Shit," Carlos muttered. "I hadn't thought it through, but you're right. The sick bastards!"

Neither of us was a fan of Connor MacLeod. We believed he'd brought his woes on himself by his long-ago murder of a priest. But we were revolted by the Sanctuary. We could appreciate the sacrifice MacLeod had made in consigning himself to that eternal limbo - as he thought, to protect the innocent. And we were appalled at the Watchers' having encouraged him to do it when they knew - and he did not - that it wasn't the only solution to his problem.

As events had shown, it wasn't even the best solution.

I made myself focus on the crisis at hand. "You've told Pierson Jacob finally is planning to kill Duncan?"

Carlos scowled. "Yep. Pierson's in London - it was him Duncan stopped off to see. An' would you believe, Jacob was wrong! Duncan hadn't heard from Connor. It was like Dawson said - he was headed to New York to poke around the loft an' look for clues he mighta missed before.

"He'd already left Pierson's place by the time I called. Pierson tried to stop him from comin' over here. Didn't want him gettin' whacked by a dirty fighter, or Watchers protectin' their new secret. So he told him what went down at the Sanctuary, without namin' Jacob. Said he thought Connor had been there, an' if so, there was no chance he could be alive." He gave a bemused shake of his head. "Duncan seems to take for granted that Pierson knows all kinds o' stuff, just 'cause he's old. But he wouldn't change his plans."

I shuddered. "So now what? Jacob will murder him even if Connor doesn't show up at the loft. Connor will be sure to hear about it."

"So now," Carlos said quietly, "it's up to me.

"I've gotta keep Jacob from killin' Duncan MacLeod."

x

x

x

Our stakeout of the ruined loft wasn't set to begin till the next day, Sunday. Jacob said that if Duncan went there from the airport he'd arrive after nightfall; the place was without electricity, and it would make no sense for the MacLeods to stumble around in the dark. I thought privately that if they really were meeting, they would have chosen Duncan's hotel - it wouldn't have been that hard for him to let Connor know where he'd be staying. But Duncan was undoubtedly going to the loft, and he'd walk right into Jacob's trap.

I had a lot of time to worry.

I'd promised Carlos I wouldn't rat on him. I didn't want to see Duncan dead any more than he did. But I made it clear he couldn't count on me for help. In fact, I wished I'd never learned about his double life.

I was afraid of Jacob - and not only because I now harbored a guilty secret. I couldn't forget that he'd endangered all of us by killing on holy ground. Sure, he'd done it once before. But he admitted he hadn't known there was never a penalty.

Beheading nine men was a hell of a way to find out.

That wasn't all. I was disturbed by his having suddenly decided to reveal his identity to Connor MacLeod. What was behind it?

Jacob boasted that he'd torment his victim for centuries to come. But in the space of fifteen years, MacLeod had lost a wife and an adopted child, and been made to feel responsible for a large-scale slaughter. Now Jacob planned to murder the one remaining person he loved. After that burst of atrocities, it would be understandable if the Highlander lived for the next _five hundred_ years without letting anyone close to him, even in the sense of physical proximity. He wouldn't be happy - far from it - but Jacob wouldn't be able to deal him any more devastating blows. What satisfaction could Jacob find in that?

I had a feeling the game was rushing to its end - and that Jacob, deep down, knew it too. But if he killed MacLeod, what would he have left to live for?

More and more, I wondered if frustration would drive him to make some nightmarish use of those new "powers" he talked about.

x

x

x

I tried to stop fretting and concentrate as Jacob outlined his plan for Duncan. But that wasn't exactly conducive to good cheer.

Assuming the younger Highlander arrived at the antique shop before Connor - who, I knew, was unlikely to show at all - Jacob wanted Faith to wait till he was in that smashed-up loft, then walk in on him and air her grievances. He'd probably try to smooth things over. But her presence would mask the approach of other Immortals and help us fighters get the drop on him.

Bob, Carlos, Winston and I were to be stationed on the roof next door, on motorcycles - by then Jacob would have replaced the ones we'd lost. Construction was going on nearby, but on a Sunday we'd have the area to ourselves. At the appropriate time, we'd come crashing into the loft through what had once been a picture window. If a gang of four couldn't outfight Duncan - which seemed highly unlikely - Jin Ke would do his "secret weapon" bit. Then Jacob would run him through, and we'd handcuff, shackle and gag him.

When Connor showed up, we'd overpower and restrain him in much the same way - the main difference being that he'd be out of shape and easier to handle. Then we'd take our captives to a more suitable place for a Quickening, and make Connor watch while Jacob tortured Duncan and finally beheaded him.

If Connor _didn't_ appear, Duncan would meet the same fate. Jacob would take his head before his injuries from the torture had time to heal. We'd dump the head and body - still bearing his passport and other identification - where they'd be found soon, and Connor would be sure to hear all the gory details.

I watched Faith throughout Jacob's spiel. She never breathed a word of objection - how could she, after the things she'd said about Duncan MacLeod over the years? But her face was whiter than I'd ever seen it.

I recalled that she hadn't been able to bring herself to kill Duncan's woman. Or had she simply lacked opportunity? Tessa Noel had lived less than a year after Faith learned of her existence; then she'd been shot and killed by a mugger. She and Duncan had spent most of that year in Paris, while we'd been in the States.

I lost myself in the enigma that was Faith, and never let my eyes stray toward Carlos.

x

x

x

Next day, the first part of the plan unfolded as Jacob had intended. Faith distracted Duncan, and he wasn't prepared for our assault.

But nothing after that went according to script.

None of us had ever seen Duncan MacLeod in person. And the photo and description in the Watcher database didn't do him justice. We knew about his dark good looks. But we weren't expecting the sculpted, perfectly proportioned physique, the lightning-swift reflexes and catlike coordination.

We ditched the bikes and attacked him, using an inventive mix of weapons. Bob, who had a fondness for clubs, swung a baseball bat studded with spikes. Winston had two sharpened metal stakes. Carlos wielded a sword in his right hand, and had metal claws fastened to his left. I carried my blade of choice, a cutlass, in my left hand; in the right, I held a doubled length of chain for use as a whip.

Duncan was annoyed but not intimidated. He defended himself with the fastest sword moves I'd ever seen, and I knew we had a battle on our hands.

To me, at least, it seemed glaringly obvious that Carlos was holding back. I reacted in panic - threw myself into the fight more furiously than anyone else, lest Jacob associate me with him. But even as I slashed at Duncan, I loathed myself.

It didn't matter; he was hurting me way more than I was him. Then he neutralized Bob by conking him with his own bat, driving the spikes into his forehead! Bob - tough as they come - never lost consciousness, and stepped aside to work the stupid thing out of his head. But with Carlos limiting himself to smart-ass remarks and cuts that never went much beyond Duncan's clothes, Winston and I wore ourselves out - while Duncan held his own against both of us.

I found myself rooting for him. I was idiotically grateful that I could, very obviously, do my best - in case Jacob was watching - and still fail to take him down.

x

x

x

In light of our less than stellar performance, it was inevitable that Jin Ke would take the field. He made his usual dramatic entrance, and Winston proudly introduced him.

Duncan MacLeod had heard of him, and was surprised to find him in this company. He said carefully, "Some people say you're a man of honor."

Jin shot back, "What do _you_ know of honor?"

My first thought was that he was reviling MacLeod for what he'd done to Faith.

My second was that he felt no Westerner could comprehend the sense of honor that compelled _him_ to serve a cause he loathed.

Maybe it was a little of both.

Jin brandished a menacing steel pike. That gave him a longer reach and more striking - if not cutting - surface than Duncan's ivory-hilted katana. But the two men flew into action. And it soon became clear that despite the disparity of weapons, despite the toll the earlier combat should have taken on Duncan, they were - incredibly - evenly matched.

At last Jin paused and said very distinctly, "Honor's not in the weapon, it's in the man." He laid the pike aside.

I gasped. I saw the risk he was taking.

Duncan MacLeod was dealing with a bunch of rule-breakers, and had every reason to believe Jin was our leader. With one lunge, he could...not take Jin's head, no. Only a madman would want a Quickening in that situation.

But he could _hack one of Jin's arms off and maim him forever_. Our shock would give him a chance to get away.

That was what Jacob would have done.

Was it what Jin _wanted?_

Instead, Duncan replied courteously, "Then perhaps you are what they say." He thrust the blade of his sword into the floor and left it standing upright.

They resumed combat using only their hands, their feet - and in one way or another, every part of those leaping, twirling, magnificent bodies.

Watching them, I could almost revel in their artistry and forget that this was a dance of life and death. Until I noticed Carlos's fidgeting.

x

x

x

The struggle went on, a seemingly unresolvable draw, till a stern voice from overhead called out, "Enough!"

The combatants stopped at once. Jin Ke gave Duncan a little bow that seemed to say, "I apologize for this rude interruption." Duncan gave him a somewhat bemused bow in return.

Jacob slowly descended a staircase from wherever he'd been. He greeted Duncan, and put the blame on us for what we'd done - claimed we "lacked discipline." But I don't think Duncan doubted for a second that we'd been following orders when we attacked him.

By now Duncan was nowhere near the katana lodged in the floor; Jacob was very near it. Every man stiffened when his hand brushed suggestively against that carved ivory hilt.

I knew instinctively that the last thing Jin had intended, when he suggested they fight hand to hand, was to leave Duncan weaponless against Jacob.

I knew too that when Jacob raised his other hand, it would be a signal for us to pounce on Duncan and restrain him...for the moment it would take Jacob to gut him with his own sword.

x

x

x

But suddenly a shot rang out. And another, and another.

Whirling around in confusion, I finally located the gun - in Carlos's hand. He emptied it into Duncan MacLeod.

It looked like the gesture of a young Immortal who was still a thug at heart. Just wanting to get one more lick in before this unequal fight was over.

But the impact of so many bullets flung Duncan backward. Sent him crashing through a boarded-up second-floor window and hurtling down onto Hudson Street.

Out of Jacob's reach.

Exactly as Carlos had planned.

Brilliant.

x

x

x

None of us bothered to look out the window. We knew Duncan was "dead." But we were sure he'd come back to life and escape before anyone could get down there.

The only question was how hard Jacob would be on Carlos for what looked like a dumb mistake.

Carlos said casually, "Guess I'm not much of a swords guy."

In a voice that sent a chill through my veins, Jacob said, "I...thought...I... told...you...to..._stop_."

Jin gave a slight shake of his head, as if he saw something coming and didn't want to believe it.

Carlos dumped the spent casings out of his gun and replied sullenly, "Yeah, well, I stopped."

Then everything went haywire.

Next thing I knew, Jacob was all over Carlos.

Carlos made the mistake of saying, "You're crazy."

And then Jacob had his sword at his own throat, daring Carlos to "stop the madness" by killing him. Saying he surely wouldn't do it, because he was too weak - we all were - to face life without him.

Carlos didn't touch the sword, but I suspect he was less afraid of life without Jacob than of taking his Quickening. He probably wouldn't have been allowed to, anyway.

If that had been some sort of loyalty test, Carlos's passing it didn't do him any good. In the blink of an eye, Jacob whipped the sword around and had it at _Carlos's_ throat.

And while the rest of us stood frozen in horror, he lopped our friend's head off.

The Quickening damn near destroyed what was left of the building.

x

x

x

Thanks to its being Sunday, we were able to get away before emergency vehicles arrived. But back at our hideout, Jacob's followers were still reeling.

Only two days before, he'd given us the worst shock of our lives by killing on holy ground. The worst even of Jin's life - and he was two thousand years old.

Now he'd come close to topping it.

We'd seen him kill one of his own students in a fit of pique. For the first time, I began to wonder about the half-dozen others who'd wandered off and fallen to unknown foes during my years with him.

If he'd killed them, he'd had sufficient self-restraint to keep the rest of us in the dark. No more.

As if killing Carlos - and doing it in front of us - wasn't bad enough, he'd taken the Quickening in a semi-public place in broad daylight. In New York City.

The word "crazy" didn't seem too strong.

I knew Carlos had acted deliberately to save Duncan MacLeod. But none of my friends seemed to suspect that, even now. So no one would have guessed without some prior knowledge.

I wracked my brain, and couldn't recall any sign Jacob had been suspicious before the fact. Besides, if that had been the case, he would have dealt with Carlos sooner.

No, he'd meted out death as punishment for what he thought was a simple mistake.

But _now_...now he had the Quickening, and knew what Carlos had really done! That would make an already paranoid man even more so.

Was he aware _I'd_ known?

If I'd been willing to help Carlos, maybe we could have rebelled openly and defeated Jacob. But now Carlos was dead. He'd died a hero, even if all he'd accomplished was to keep Duncan alive a few more days.

As for me, I broke out in a sweat every time I felt Jacob's eyes on me.

x

x

x

I had nightmares that night.

Oddly enough, they weren't about Carlos. Or the killings in the Sanctuary. Or even about Jacob.

In my dreams I was back in 'Nam. Turning away from the wounded, high-tailing it into the jungle to save my own skin and avoid awkward questions.

But this time, I heard the men I abandoned cursing me.

x

x

x

By the next day, I'd calmed down enough to realize the news reports about what had happened were very peculiar.

A bit of background. In 1985, Connor MacLeod and a few other Immortals had gotten the notion they were the last ones, meeting in New York for the Gathering. Thinking it was some sort of grand finale, they became reckless. Most notoriously, Connor - then calling himself Russell Nash, but operating an antique shop at the same Hudson Street address - killed a rival in the parking garage of Madison Square Garden. With wrestling going on overhead! He was arrested and held for questioning. But he managed to conceal his sword before the cops picked him up, and they had to release him for lack of evidence.

Connor ultimately embraced the delusion that he'd become the last Immortal - which meant that his mysterious enemy must have died, even though he'd never identified him. That was why he felt safe in marrying Brenda Wyatt.

All that was ancient history. But I knew the New York media had gone wild during those weeks in '85, with headlines like "Police Baffled" and "Headhunters 3, Cops 0."

So I expected fresh headlines about the Quickening and decapitated body on Hudson Street. Especially since the carnage had taken place in a structure once owned by "headhunter" suspect Russell Nash.

Nope.

I finally found a small item, buried on a back page of the paper. It gave the impression some hoods had murdered one of their own in an abandoned building, probably in the course of a drug deal gone bad. They'd set a fire to cover it up, and that had led to a minor explosion. There was no mention of the body being minus a head, or of a history connected with the address.

I'd seen more passion in reports of petty burglaries. And my buddies told me the TV news segments had been just as bland.

There was only one explanation. The police had been burned by those reports of their "bafflement" in '85, and didn't want it to happen again. That meant playing down reports of beheadings. So they'd gone all out to mislead the newshounds. And the Fire Department had helped them.

I heaved a bigger sigh of relief than anyone else. Based on what Carlos had told me, the Watchers knew Jacob had been behind the Sanctuary raid. They were prepared to kill not only him, but anyone who'd learned there was no automatic reprisal for violating holy ground. They undoubtedly knew what all of us looked like.

But thanks to our unlikely allies in the NYPD, they _didn't_ know Immortals were killing each other in New York.

x

x

x

The next three days felt like the calm before a storm. Jacob seemed unusually mild-mannered, even pleasant. Jin and Faith became noticeably withdrawn. Carlos was never mentioned.

I visited 'Nam every night.

Jacob had no trouble finding Duncan MacLeod's hotel. Duncan hadn't been back there since his adventure with us. But two unnamed friends of his had gotten to the hotel before Jacob, told the desk clerk MacLeod was taking a little side trip, and asked that his room be held for a few days. The establishment had no problem with that, since his credit was good.

The desk clerk's description made it clear one of those friends was Watcher Joe Dawson. A gray-haired man with a beard, using a cane. We all knew Dawson had two artificial legs. He'd obviously changed his mind about following Duncan to New York. But I felt confident he wouldn't tell the Society as a whole what was going on.

Jacob didn't know whether the other man was mortal or Immortal. He didn't want the nuisance of possibly tangling with an Immortal, so he didn't get within sensing range. But Dawson was easy to spot from a distance. Jacob identified the men's rental car, then planted a tracking device in it while they were in a bar.

And on Day 4, they led him to both MacLeods.

Only Faith was with Jacob that day. When they returned in the evening, she was subdued and silent; Jacob was on an adrenalin high. He told us he'd managed to avoid Dawson and his companion, and had found Duncan and Connor together. I gathered they were in a remote place that really would have been safe for a Quickening. He'd made himself known at last. Then he'd goaded the flabby Connor into a swordfight, shamed and humiliated him in front of Duncan.

He could have taken Connor's head. But he'd vowed to go on tormenting him - and keeping him alive - until they were the last two Immortals. And he'd announced that Duncan was "on borrowed time."

I could picture the noble Duncan MacLeod standing there, fuming. Aching for his friend.

Knowing that moment might be his only chance for a fair, one-on-one fight with Jacob...and he couldn't seize it without showing Connor up.

Jacob was very proud of himself.

None of us could think of anything to say.

x

x

x

That was Thursday.

By Friday we seemed to be back to marking time. Jacob hadn't mentioned any new plan for trapping Duncan.

Was that because he knew Duncan's being on guard would make it more difficult? Because he was waiting to master those old Immortals' powers? Or... because he didn't trust _us?_

x

x

x

If some dramatic development was needed to hurry things along, it came Friday night.

Faith went out during the evening. Everyone saw the sexy outfit she had on under her coat. Saw that she didn't return for hours.

No one said a word.

But we all knew whose bed she'd been in. And Jacob knew we knew.

x

x

x

Jacob wasn't in love with Faith. He'd taken her as his mate because she was female, handy, and physically attractive. I guessed he was passionate - and brutal - after a Quickening; Jin had told me most Immortal men are rough then, especially if they don't love their partners. But I doubt Jacob had much interest in sex at other times. In his youth, when he should have been most hot-blooded, he'd been content as a priest.

So in the larger scheme of things, the type of loyalty he demanded from Faith was the same as he required of all of us. Sexual fidelity was almost incidental.

But still, the guy was human. No man could enjoy having his underlings know his woman was sleeping around.

Or in this case, sleeping with his enemy.

x

x

x

And what about Faith? She'd gone to Duncan MacLeod - a man who'd once loved her enough to want her with him forever.

She'd undoubtedly hoped to screw him, not kill him. Sure, a woman can seduce a man and then kill him in his sleep - with his own weapon, if need be. But Faith couldn't have taken a Quickening in Duncan's hotel room or, realistically, lured him anywhere else. And there would have been hell to pay if she'd whacked him - Jacob was reserving that honor for himself.

So she'd wanted sex. Or love.

The length of time she'd been there proved Duncan hadn't rebuffed her.

The obviousness of what she'd done was sure to antagonize Jacob.

And yet the damn-fool woman had _come back_.

Still - and forever - an enigma.

x

x

x

I grew nervous as Saturday dragged on. In my head, I kept hearing Carlos's words on the phone to Adam Pierson. _"He really is dangerous, an' I don't know whether I'm more scared to leave him or to stay."_

I wondered if Pierson had guessed his contact was dead. If I'd had Carlos's cell phone, I would have tried calling the last number dialed. Filled Pierson in, maybe asked this old Immortal for advice. But the phone had been in Carlos's pocket when he died.

I was on my own.

x

x

x

Late in the afternoon, something finally happened. Jacob invited all of us to an evening feast in his newly furnished dining room. He made clear it was a command performance. And we should dress up - this would be a night to remember!

_I don't know whether I'm more scared to leave him or to stay..._

We dressed up.

Faith had been a seamstress in her presumed-mortal days, and was now a fashion designer. Her taste ran to the outlandish, but Jacob got a charge out of having her provide our wardrobes. At least her idea of men's formal wear wasn't as gaudy as her choices for everyday. I didn't know what Jacob would be wearing, but the colors she'd picked for the rest of us were pale blue for Jin, white and gold for Bob, white and silver for Winston, cream and tan for me.

She probably had fancier names for them.

Unfortunately, the material was satin brocade. I couldn't guess in what century the cut would have been appropriate, but it sure wasn't the twenty-first. The thought went through my mind as I dressed that I'd hate to die in a getup like this.

Then I glanced at Jin, changing his clothes with the rest of us in the room we shared. I saw him hesitate for a long moment, then strap on his sword.

Going to dinner?

_I don't know whether I'm more scared to leave him or to stay..._

I decided to take my cutlass along too.

x

x

x

Jacob - and an expressionless Faith - greeted us at the dining room door. Jacob was decked out in black, with gold braid. Faith wore a beaded dress in the same deep copper color as her hair. That made sense, I thought; the hair color was one she'd chosen, presumably a favorite. I knew she was a natural brunette.

And then, for the first time, it occurred to me to wonder whether the choice had been hers or Jacob's.

The table setting was undoubtedly his idea, and it made all my nerve endings tingle. The table was a long one. Jacob had understandably placed himself at the head and Faith at the foot. The rest of us could sit where we chose - but all four places were set along one side of the table.

Jacob explained that he wanted us seated that way so he could stand across from us and make a little speech.

Perfectly plausible.

But I couldn't shake the image of him sweeping down that row of drugged Immortals in the Sanctuary, taking heads as he went.

_I don't know whether I'm more scared to leave him or to stay..._

I decided to avoid sitting at either end. That wasn't hard to do, since Jin headed straight _for_ one end - the one near Faith. I wasn't sure whether his goal was to be close to her or as far as possible from Jacob. I dropped into the middle one of the three remaining seats. Winston beat Bob to the one next to Jacob, and Bob wound up between Jin and me.

Following Jin's lead, I stashed my weapon under the table. Within easy reach.

Then I studied the room, which was new to me. It was sparsely furnished - the table and chairs, racks of lighted candles. The scent of candle wax made it feel like a church.

But I was most interested in locating the nearest exit.

x

x

x

Food was already laid out, and Jacob didn't discourage us from digging in. He made a point of recommending the wine, which he described as "an interesting new label."

I only took a few sips. It looked too much like blood.

Then I caught a glimpse of the bottle, and discovered the vintner shared Jacob's macabre sense of humor. The brand name was Cutting Edge.

Standing at the head of the table, Jacob called for attention and raised his glass. "A toast," he said solemnly. "I see tonight as a celebration of the spirit. To all of you who continue to stand by me...even those who might waver at times."

I didn't let myself change expression.

He looked down the row of faces, unctuously acknowledging each of us by name. "Winston...Manny...Cracker Bob...Jin Ke...Faith."

I met his gaze forthrightly, but without a smile or nod.

My insides were in knots.

"You are my _flock!_" he assured us. "You nourish my soul." Lifting the glass again, he intoned, "Do this in remembrance of...our special occasion."

A mockery of the Last Supper. And yet...I found myself wondering what kind of priest Jacob might have been. _"If I'd known from the start that holy ground was a refuge all Immortals honored, I would have gone into a monastery and stayed there. Happily! The sins of my youth could have been forgiven - even my trying to kill MacLeod. But by the time I found out, it was too late." _

If he'd been taught properly, if he hadn't despaired of finding redemption, he might in our day have been...not Pope, no Immortal could risk that, but a man who deserved to be Pope.

Then my thoughts strayed in another, more disturbing direction. _"You nourish my soul..."_

At the Last Supper, Catholics believe, Jesus gave his body and blood - in the form of bread and wine - to be consumed by the Apostles. Was this madman planning a perverted mirror image of that, a Supper in which _he_ would_ consume_ _his_ _disciples?_

He roamed down the other side of the table. "You are all part of a great journey," he told us. "A four-hundred-year quest for justice."

When he reached the end of the table, he rounded it and strode behind Jin. Headed for a wall bracket I hadn't seen before, and removed a wicked-looking sword. "And here, my friends, is the instrument of that justice. The giver and taker of creation. Blessed by Popes..." Holding it reverently, he walked back to stand opposite us. _"Baptized in blood."_

I wasn't sure why I was still sitting there. I found it hard to take my eyes off that sword.

"It is the living that matters, after all," Jacob said.

That sounded reasonable.

The sword sparkled in the candlelight.

"It sings like an angel," he breathed. "Just listen..."

_And then the sword split in two._

Jin's gasp snapped me out of the half-trance I'd been in.

But Jacob was still holding _two_ murderous swords, one in each hand. Were they real, or was one an illusion? If they were both really there, had my seeing only one been an illusion?

Had Jin seen what I did, or something completely different?

Whatever the truth might be, I knew Jacob was making his first use of the Sanctuary Immortals' powers.

Jin was on his feet, sword in hand.

Jacob leapt onto the table and confronted him. Towered over him, wielding those two deadly blades.

Yet no one else seemed to be moving...

Jin shook his head and lowered his sword. Even now, he couldn't fight the man who'd saved his life. Wouldn't dispute his onetime savior's right to end that life if he so desired.

Those merciless blades whipped through the air. Jin's head fell with a sickening thud, and his lifeblood spattered the table.

Jacob moved up it to stand over Bob. The blades were scarlet - dripping, reeking. I looked into my teacher's face and saw the implacable visage of Death.

He swung, committed to the strike against Bob.

And I hit the floor rolling. Grabbed my cutlass, somehow, without injuring myself.

But I didn't get to my feet till I was out the door - and didn't stop moving till the force of a distant Quickening knocked me off them again.

x

x

x

I got up and resumed running. But my mind kept playing tricks on me. One second I was pelting through a church-that-never-was, the next, crossing a battle zone in 'Nam with mortar shells exploding on all sides. I knew I had to make it to the jungle...or was it the alley? The wounded weren't just cursing now, they were clutching at my ankles. When I looked down, every one of them had the face of Carlos or Jin or Winston or Cracker Bob.

I kicked them away.

I reached the jungle, only it really was an alley. And I hid behind a dumpster, which somehow seemed appropriate, and shook like a drunk with the d-t's.

Finally, I wept. For Carlos and Jin and Winston and Cracker Bob. Maybe a little, even, for Faith.

I knew I couldn't have saved them.

I wasn't a coward, never had been. But I wasn't the stuff heroes are made of, either.

Just a survivor.

x

x

x

I was also, at heart, a sane and sensible man. By the time the Quickening lightning ebbed, I'd worked through my hysteria and was thinking clearly.

No one but me had come out of the building. So Jacob had gone on to kill Winston and Faith, as I'd assumed.

Why had he done such a thing? Not to strengthen himself. Jin was the only one of us whose Quickening was worth squat.

No, Jacob had felt betrayed by Carlos, and that had made him question everyone's loyalty. He may well have shared my suspicions about Jin's having dropped his weapon with no assurance Duncan MacLeod would do the same. He came to distrust Jin, Faith, and probably me. From his point of view, killing the three of us was a sound idea. And his murdering that many followers might have alienated Winston and Bob.

Also, if the Quickenings he'd taken in the Sanctuary strengthened him as much as he expected, he'd have no more need of a gang.

But other, less rational factors played a part. His lifelong fixation on religion. His perception of himself as a harshly judged outcast. His struggle to cope with those Sanctuary Quickenings. His vendetta's seeming rush toward a climax. They all contributed to that warped Last Supper.

x

x

x

If I got away, others should have been able to. If they ran, Jacob couldn't have pursued them far without being overtaken by Jin's Quickening.

Was the wine drugged? Maybe.

Was he using hypnosis, with or without the aid of drugs? Almost certainly.

But there were other possible explanations for his victims' having let themselves be slaughtered.

Cracker Bob undoubtedly thought he was being tested - and refused, till the last second, to believe his surrogate father would kill _him_.

Winston, facing the prospect of death, may have had a vision of it as a grand adventure. Or he may have felt that if he couldn't fight with any chance of success, it would be cowardly to flee.

He was very young.

Faith? She couldn't have reached an exit without stepping over Jin's and Bob's dead bodies. Slipping and sliding in blood.

On the other hand, she'd never appreciated her Immortality. Hell, she'd been whining about it for three hundred years. Perhaps she really did choose to die.

x

x

x

Ten minutes after my escape, it occurred to me that the Police and Fire Departments were taking their sweet time. There'd been a hundred lightning strikes, a half-dozen explosions, and as many small fires. But I had yet to hear a siren.

Saturday night. Chaos.

And I was standing in an alley, holding a cutlass that had never been properly _baptized_.

Jacob Kell had murdered the only real friends I'd ever had. And he wouldn't just forget about me, would he? While he was alive, I was in danger.

_An Immortal is as weak as a baby for up to a half hour afterward..._

I took a few tentative steps toward the building.

Up to a half hour. It varied. What if I went in there and found him fully recovered?

_You take a terrible pounding, physical and mental. Sometimes you have to fight to hang onto your identity..._

I knew, from Jacob's having hacked into his Watcher's Chronicle, that Duncan MacLeod had once suffered something called a Dark Quickening. He'd actually been possessed by evil entities he'd taken into himself. He'd recovered from the experience, but Dawson had never learned exactly how.

Maybe Jacob _would _forget about me, obsessed as he was with the MacLeods. I could get out of New York. It was a big world.

And I wasn't a hero.

I stuffed the cutlass under my ridiculous satin jacket, and began looking for a clothing store to burglarize.


	3. Part 3

A half hour later I was wearing a flannel shirt, jeans and raincoat stolen from a thrift shop. The cutlass was concealed, and I was walking briskly along the street. Planning to get farther away from Jacob, then spend the night in a bus shelter.

Suddenly, the sky was lit up by another burst of fireworks. This one across town, and clearly on a rooftop.

A Quickening.

Far as it was from me, I dove for cover in a doorway. When I'd caught my breath, I watched the light show with my mind in a whirl.

A Quickening on a rooftop in New York? Even late at night, that was outrageous! These people were insane. It was 1985 all over again.

I knew Jacob wasn't involved. He couldn't even have gotten there, let alone been up to a swordfight.

And yet there had to be a connection. Immortals didn't throw caution to the winds like this unless they were desperate.

If it wasn't Jacob, it had to be the MacLeods.

x

x

x

I'd robbed the till of that thrift shop. So come morning I was able to buy newspapers, didn't have to try to swipe those thick Sunday editions from newsstands. I camped out in Penn Station to read them.

Back in '92, the Watchers - the ones who didn't know about the Sanctuary - had speculated that Connor MacLeod might have persuaded Duncan to take his head. He hadn't done it then; but now I thought that was the most likely explanation of what I'd seen. There was, however, a chance that if Duncan had absolutely refused to do it, Connor had beheaded _him_, to deny Jacob his Quickening.

I was surprised by the depth of my respect for Duncan. I really wanted him to be alive.

I had to hunt for news of a rooftop killing. I almost gave up, thinking it hadn't made the deadline. But I finally saw a small item. The body of a murdered man had been found on the roof of the Phoenix Hotel after "a minor electrical explosion and fire caused by a satellite dish." This death, like the one in the antique-shop loft, was blamed on drug dealers; the article implied stray bullets had damaged the satellite dish. There was no mention of a severed head.

The dead man was described as Caucasian, with light brown hair and blue eyes.

When I'd glimpsed Connor MacLeod in the Sanctuary, he'd had long hair and a beard. They were light brown.

And while Duncan was beating the shit out of me, I'd observed that his hair and eyes were as dark as mine.

I let out the breath I'd been holding.

But I knew it must have been hell for Duncan, having not only to kill his friend, but leave the body. Firefighters had gotten there quickly. I was sure he'd only escaped because he didn't have to drag himself any farther than a rented room in that hotel.

At the hour it happened, it was a safe bet that New York's well-behaved Immortals were tucked in their beds - as were the Watchers assigned to them. So there were probably only two people who'd seen that Quickening and recognized it for what it was. Myself...and Jacob Kell.

x

x

x

The deaths in the Kathedral, as we'd nicknamed it, had gotten more coverage. But they'd also been covered _up_. Nary a mention of the interrupted dinner, the satin or the swords. According to the papers, three homeless men and one woman had sought shelter in the unfinished building, started a fire to warm themselves, and died of smoke inhalation when it got out of hand.

What an epitaph for the legendary Jin Ke.

I half heard some later news on a TV in one of the railroad station's restaurants. Advocates for the homeless were making an issue of the slow Fire Department response time. Firefighters argued that no one should have been in the structure, and they'd known no others were in danger. Besides, the fire itself had done little damage even to the Kathedral.

Their slow response had aided Jacob.

But he hadn't really needed that sort of help. Unlike the rest of us, he'd explored every inch of the place. He undoubtedly had hidey-holes where no mortal would ever find him.

And I knew he'd go right on living there.

Waiting for the challenge that was sure to come.

x

x

x

I couldn't leave New York before the showdown.

By late afternoon I'd found the perfect hideout. An office building a few doors from the Kathedral, on the other side of the street, had a seldom-used penthouse apartment for visiting execs. It even had its own private elevator.

After I'd spent a few minutes tampering with locks, it was mine.

I knew I wouldn't be disturbed, even if I was still around when the offices opened Monday. I'd used digs like these before I met Jacob. If no one was supposed to be in a VIP suite, it never occurred to office staff to check whether someone actually was. Even if they spotted me using the elevator, I'd be mistaken for a workman who had a right to be there.

Under different circumstances, I would have gotten a kick out of my luxurious new home - a striking contrast to the room I'd been sharing with four other men.

Now I just wished those men were alive.

I didn't plan to waste time enjoying the bed, let alone the bathtub. There was only one part of the penthouse I cared about: its picture window.

The window that overlooked the main entrance to Jacob's Kathedral.

x

x

x

I was barely settled when someone else tried to break in.

I was amused, in a grim way. _Well, I know Duncan's Watcher is in town..._

I'm an expert at rigging locks. My rival for the best seat in the house had to go elsewhere.

x

x

x

I knew Duncan MacLeod would wait until dusk.

But would it be dusk on Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, or even later? How much time would he need to recover from Connor's death and train for the fight of his life?

Faith had probably told him where she was staying. If he read newspapers or turned on the TV, he'd learned about the deaths in the Kathedral and realized Jacob had killed his followers. He'd even be aware there was one henchman unaccounted for - no, two, because there was no way he would have spotted the news reports of Carlos's death. But he knew he wouldn't have to face a gang.

Did he understand that as Jacob assimilated the power of the Sanctuary Immortals, he grew stronger with each passing day?

I got at least one answer quickly. I'd been at my post just an hour when the tall, proud form of the Highlander came striding toward his destiny.

x

x

x

My measly take from the thrift shop had only paid for a cheap pair of binoculars. Given another twenty-four hours, I would have stolen better ones or the cash to buy them. Had high resolution and infrared.

As it was, I couldn't see much after MacLeod entered the building. Moving figures glimpsed through windows in the section illegally wired for electricity; moonlight glancing off swords in areas with no walls at all. That was about it.

I told myself that if MacLeod walked out alive, I'd recognize him by his build and carriage. The streetlights would show all I needed to see.

Until then I had time on my hands.

Too much time.

x

x

x

_Of course_, I told myself, Duncan would be able to defeat Jacob.

Of course he wouldn't.

Until the Sanctuary killings, I would have picked him as the winner in a fair fight.

But now? Yes, he'd been strengthened by Connor's Quickening; but Jacob had Jin's to offset it. Even there, Jacob probably had the edge. Jin had been two thousand years old, Connor not five hundred.

The real key to the outcome might be the powers of the Sanctuary Immortals. Those Quickenings would take longer to absorb, be harder to "digest" - especially, perhaps, for an unworthy foe who'd won them by murder.

But I'd seen proof Jacob had begun to master them.

If I'd killed Jacob when I had the chance - when he was weak after treacherously beheading my friends - Duncan wouldn't be in this situation. Maybe he was looking that night. Would actually have seen the second Quickening and grasped what it meant. Wouldn't have been forced to kill Connor.

_Duncan MacLeod is dying for my sins..._

x

x

x

I was jolted out of my guilt trip by the last thing I expected to hear on a quiet Sunday evening.

A volley of gunshots.

Directly beneath me. In my building!

I held my breath.

But nothing else happened. A quick look through my binoculars showed the silhouettes of two Immortals still locked in combat. At their distance, they hadn't heard the shots.

Apparently no one else had, either.

I was unsure what to do, so I did nothing.

Silence descended once again.

x

x

x

In the silence, I heard the voice of a murdered friend. _"This guy's a threat to the world... Things have gone too far. Someone's gotta take a stand."_

I cursed. Damn Carlos! Why did he have to be such a frigging hero?

I wished I could see more through the damned cheap binoculars. In the darkness, ghosts were gathering round. All the men I'd failed to help, or avenge, or even bury.

_Duncan MacLeod is dying for my sins..._

x

x

x

At last light came to dispel the ghosts.

It came in the form of a soul-shattering Quickening.

x

x

x

_An Immortal is as weak as a baby for up to a half hour afterward..._

x

x

x

I clutched my cutlass in one sweat-soaked hand and bolted for the elevator. When the doors opened on Ground, I burst out of it on the run. Lightning still flared and crackled as I raced out of the building and toward the Kathedral, ducking flying debris.

x

x

x

_You take a terrible pounding, physical and mental. Sometimes you have to fight to hang onto your identity..._

x

x

x

I was a survivor, damn it! That didn't have to translate into running away. I'd survive Jacob Kell's Quickening as I had everything else.

x

x

x

_This guy's a threat to the world... Things have gone too far. Someone's gotta take a stand..._

x

x

x

I told Carlos he'd made his point. He could shut up now.

x

x

x

The lightning had tapered off by the time I barreled into the Kathedral, but I'd noted where it was centered. No roof there, not even much in the way of walls; the East River churning below. But it didn't lie far outside the area I knew.

When I got close enough to sense the living Immortal, it was clear he hadn't moved from the site of the Quickening. I gritted my teeth and kept going. Made myself slow down, to avoid tumbles that would cost even more time. But I knew a quick-recovering Jacob might confront me at any moment, and my sword throbbed with a life of its own.

At last I stepped onto a railed platform slick with blood. All my senses tingled. The very air seemed alive, battering me with stray tendrils of an essence beyond my imagining. Contempt, bitterness, anger, regret...despair.

Crumpled at my feet lay a man who was bloody and bedraggled, limp as a rag doll, but very much alive.

Duncan MacLeod.

x

x

x

I wanted to cheer.

There was no sign of Jacob, body or severed head. I guessed both had plummeted into the river.

Duncan had been unconscious, but woke with a gasp as he sensed my Immortality. He opened his eyes and tried to focus. Clearly recognized me - and saw the cutlass in my hand.

Before I could speak, he croaked, "I...won't beg...for my life. But...for _your_ sake...I don't think you want...the Quickening I just took."

I said quickly, "You're right, I don't. I didn't come here to kill you. _Thank you_, Mr. MacLeod."

But I wasn't sure he'd heard me. His eyes were closed again.

x

x

x

All was well. I knew Duncan would recover; he'd been taking Quickenings and getting away after them for hundreds of years. And when he came to his senses, he couldn't be expected to have friendly feelings toward a member of Jacob's gang. So I tucked my unneeded sword into my belt and left by the route I'd come.

I was already outside when I heard the sirens.

Shit! _This_ time they were coming quickly. Too late, I realized they were doing it - empty building or no - because of the flak they'd taken for the night before.

I told myself that if Duncan was unconscious, the sirens would rouse him.

Maybe. A big maybe.

He'd only taken one Quickening. But it occurred to me now that it might have a mega-effect, because it was the Quickening of a man who'd taken _fourteen_ of them within the last ten days.

There was no body, no proof he'd done anything...

What about his sword? Forensic analysis could prove that sword had been used in the killing at the Phoenix Hotel. If the cops could make an arrest, they'd gladly reveal how the victim had died.

He could chuck his sword in the river. Or I could run back and if he was unconscious, _I_ could take it or hide it or chuck it in the river. Think Connor MacLeod at Madison Square Garden...

Connor's fight had been nothing like this. Duncan was a mess. He undoubtedly had fresh blood on him that wasn't his own.

And what of the blood that _was_ his own? I'd even seen a hastily applied tourniquet on one of his legs. By the time the cops got to him, there'd be blood and a tourniquet, but no wounds! So much for the secret of Immortality.

His Watcher. Joe Dawson was lurking somewhere. Let him rescue Duncan...

Oh yeah, brilliant idea. How could an _unconscious_ man be rescued by someone with two artificial legs?

The thought of the Watchers made my blood curdle. If Duncan was picked up by the cops, even if he couldn't be held...if his name and picture were in the news..._other_ Watchers would figure out that he'd had contact with Connor or Jacob. That he'd learned the holy ground secret, maybe even from a Quickening.

And he'd be dead.

x

x

x

But if I went back there trying to save him, and got caught, _I'd_ be dead. There probably wasn't any crime that could be pinned on me. But if my picture made the news, the Watchers would be waiting when the police let me go. I wouldn't last a day.

I wasn't a coward, never had been. But I wasn't the stuff heroes are made of, either.

Just a survivor.

I wanted to keep going, save myself, like I always had.

I wanted to _survive!_

But too many heroes had been setting too many good examples.

I cursed Carlos.

I cursed Duncan MacLeod.

I ran back into the building.

x

x

x

No slow, cautious movements this time. I sped back to where I'd left Duncan, hoping I remembered the hazards and wouldn't step through a door into nothingness.

I reached him safely. But he was out cold, and I couldn't revive him. On top of that, I didn't know Jacob's hiding places; I'd have to get Duncan out of the building. A taller man than me - probably heavier, though he didn't have an ounce of fat on him.

The sirens were getting closer. A lot closer.

I heaved Duncan over my shoulder, held him steady with one hand, and grabbed his sword with my other. The same katana I remembered from the loft, though I had no idea how he'd gotten it back.

Time to make tracks.

x

x

x

My previous route had involved some climbing, ducking around and under obstacles. Carrying another man, I couldn't risk it. Had to go a different way, more slowly. My nerves were at the snapping point.

I heard the first emergency vehicles pull up; firefighters started yelling back and forth. There actually were fires blazing, but I was skirting them with no trouble.

I began to think we'd make it to the alley.

But then I stumbled over a major complication.

A dead body.

x

x

x

More precisely, a body with a sword stuck in it.

I couldn't tell whether the guy was dead or "dead," if you get my drift.

Jacob had swords to spare, so it was possible he'd used one to off a nosy mortal reporter. If I'd been sure of that, I could have stepped over the corpse with no time wasted.

But if this was an Immortal, I had a problem on my hands. _Either_ Jacob or Duncan could have put him out of the way temporarily, if he showed up and challenged one of them at an inopportune moment. Even if he'd come to pick a fight with Jacob, he might be just as ready to kill Duncan or me.

But if I left him there, and he came back to life when a firefighter or cop pulled the sword out, we Immortals could kiss our "secret" goodbye.

I couldn't take time to agonize over the decision. I yanked the sword out of him, tossed it a little distance away, and had Duncan's katana at his throat when he came gasping back to life.

There wasn't much light; I could barely see his face. But his sudden head movement told me a lot. However implausibly, his first concern was not the man menacing him with a sword, but the one slung over my shoulder. And the small sound he made held a world of relief.

I poked him with the sword. "Who are you?"

He took a deep breath. "Adam Pierson," he said, in a voice that was weak but confident. "A friend of MacLeod's. He'll confirm that when he comes around."

"Okay." I lowered the weapon. "We have to get out of here. Police, Fire, sounds like half the city trooping in."

"Ye gods." Pierson struggled to a sitting position. He was still looking at Duncan. "Uh, what's wrong with him?"

"Major league Quickening."

"Good. That's what I thought." He began groping on the floor. "Where's my sword?"

"Oh, sorry." I gestured in the direction I'd tossed it, and he scuttled after it. "What the hell happened?"

"I got here before MacLeod," he explained. He still sounded out of breath. "Thought I might have a better chance, solely because I'm willing to fight dirty against a dirty opponent. But Kell shot me before I could shoot him. Those are the breaks - always a risk when you're on the enemy's turf." He found the sword, and used it to lever himself to his feet. But when he took a step he almost fell.

"Oh, shit," I muttered. "Can you -"

"Don't worry, I'll make it," he promised. "Maybe a little slower. You go. Here!" It took me a second to realize he was dangling a set of car keys in front of me. "Black Mercedes. In the alley."

"Meet you there," I told him. He saw I had my hands full, and stuffed the keys in my pocket. Then I tightened my grip on my unconscious burden - and his sword - and made a dash for the exit.

x

x

x

True to his word, Pierson staggered out of the building two or three minutes after me. I got my first good look at him when he reached the rental car; if I hadn't known Jin Ke, I would have been surprised by his youthful appearance.

Wobbly as he was, he claimed the driver's seat. I climbed in back with the still unconscious Duncan. "Where are we going?" I asked as we shot out of the alley.

"MacLeod's hotel, the Phoenix. That's where his clothes and belongings are. He probably has the room key on him." Pierson glanced over his shoulder. "It's funny how we snap back faster from being 'dead' than just passed out. Has he been conscious at all? Did he, uh, seem all right?"

I knew he was remembering the Dark Quickening. "He came to for a minute back there," I said. "It was a rough Quickening, but he seemed to be handling it."

"Good."

"I haven't told you who I am," I began tentatively.

"I already know. Manny, right? I've never seen your picture, but I've heard a description. Sorry I don't know what last name you're using at the moment -"

I said good-naturedly, "_I_ don't know what last name I'm using at the moment." Then it hit me. "You knew I was one of Jacob's gang?"

"Doesn't bother me. You obviously weren't trying to avenge him. And I've never had the impression his followers were evil." Before I could ease into the subject, he asked, "Can you tell me what's happened to Carlos? Is he all right?"

I gave him the bad news, and he swore softly.

At last he said, "So you knew Carlos had been working for me, and that's why you trusted me? I was surprised you were so quick to believe I was a friend."

"Yeah, that was it. I knew Adam Pierson had a British accent. And I was impressed that your first concern was for MacLeod's being alive. Why did you trust _me_ right away? I could have been taking him somewhere to behead him."

"I trusted you because he _was_ alive," he explained. "If you planned to behead him he would have been 'dead,' with a dagger in his heart. Or at least tied up."

That made sense.

But there was something about Pierson that I found perplexing.

I had to ask. "You risked your life, just because MacLeod is your friend?"

"Oh, I wasn't risking much," he said lightly. "I was fairly sure that if Kell got the drop on me, he wouldn't take my head. Wouldn't risk a Quickening to call more attention to his place, and force a postponement of the fight he really wanted. And he wouldn't try to use me as a hostage, because he had no idea who I was."

I found myself wondering if he'd been Joe Dawson's mystery companion. If so - and if Jacob had looked at those men through binoculars - Jacob had known he was an ally of Duncan's. Pierson was lucky he'd wanted to fight Duncan, not toy with him.

"I've been around a while." He was sober now. "If he _had_ taken my Quickening, and fought MacLeod even months later, I could have worked actively _against_ him." I heard the ring of steel in his voice, and knew this was a very old, very strong Immortal.

Duncan MacLeod was fortunate in his friends.

Just then the Highlander stirred beside me and began coming to.

Pierson heard him, and said cheerfully, "MacLeod! Have you met our new friend Manny? He just saved both our lives."

x

x

x

Duncan was still dazed. But when he finally understood what Pierson was telling him, he couldn't have been more grateful and gracious. He didn't seem to harbor any resentment about my past.

First Pierson, and then I, expressed cautious sympathy about Connor. That was a delicate topic, and neither of us said much. Duncan's pain was so obvious that I had to look away.

After a few minutes, I told him how Carlos had also saved his life - at the cost of his own.

He closed his eyes, shuddered, and said softly, "I'll never forget him."

Then he tried to scold Pierson for not having gone back to England a few days before, when he'd urged him to. But between his exhaustion and his relief that the older Immortal was okay, he didn't manage to sound very angry.

I noticed he was careful not to call this close friend by _name_ till I did. Drained as I felt, that was good for a chuckle.

So the Brit used different aliases, real name on a need-to-know basis?

Been there, done that.

But I was impressed by Duncan's having the presence of mind, even in these circumstances, to protect that kind of secret.

He expressed concern about Joe Dawson, and asked whether he too was still in New York.

"Yep," Pierson, or whoever he is, said easily. "Haven't seen him in a day or so. But he was probably watching your fight, even if it can't go in the official Chronicle."

I remembered my speculation that it had been Dawson who'd tried to break into my penthouse.

And then, the gunfire I'd heard on a lower floor...

I'd forgotten about that. Who'd been shooting? God, I should have checked it out. What if Dawson was lying back there, wounded?

Just as I was about to say something, Pierson's cell phone rang.

He flipped it open. "Pierson here - Joe! We were just talking about you... Yes, MacLeod's all right. We're together, in the car, on our way back to the hotel. See you there."

He put the phone away. "All accounted for. Don't know how Joe's getting around - combination of cabs and walking, I guess. But he's headed for the hotel."

This was a man I wanted to meet.

x

x

x

By the time we reached the Phoenix, Duncan was able to walk with support from both of us. And he did indeed have his room key. He looked terrible, but we made it through the lobby without being challenged. When we passed a knot of staring onlookers, Pierson muttered something about a "drunken brawl." No one was close enough to realize there was no smell of liquor.

Once we'd gotten Duncan to his room, Pierson indicated I should make myself comfortable. Have a beer, stay out of the way.

He seemed prepared to do whatever his friend needed. Undress him, bathe him, put him to bed and sing lullabies, if that would help.

But Duncan gently let him know he could manage. He peeled his torn and bloody clothes off, threw them in a heap, and tottered into the bathroom.

We heard the shower running for a very long time.

While we sat around discussing - of all things - the beer.

Duncan eventually came back, still unsteady on his feet. His damp hair and ill-fitting hotel robe made him look young and vulnerable. He flopped on the sofa, took the can of beer Pierson handed him, and stared at it as if he didn't know what to do with it.

x

x

x

At that moment we heard a series of taps on the door. Pierson mumbled something, and went to admit Joe Dawson.

I knew at once that Dawson hadn't been my rival for that ringside seat in the penthouse.

But if not MacLeod's Watcher, who in blazes -?

Dawson was also seeing Duncan for the first time since Connor's death. They embraced, and when the gray-haired man turned away, there were tears in his eyes.

Pierson introduced me, and explained how I'd saved him and MacLeod from being caught in the Kathedral. Dawson wrung my hand till I thought it would fall off.

Duncan was staring helplessly at his beer again.

We all sat down and clustered around him. It felt like we were lending support to the chief mourner at a wake.

x

x

x

And it wasn't only a wake for Connor MacLeod. After a few minutes, Duncan ran a hand through his hair and muttered, "I still feel dirty."

Pierson said steadily, "You did what you had to do."

"Did I?" The dark eyes were haunted - as if, behind them, the Highlander was seeing things we weren't. "Kell wanted to _end_ that fight...to walk away without killing me.

"It wasn't an act of mercy. He was gloating over his victory. Planned to torture me the way he had Connor. But still, it was a fight in which no one had to die...until _I insisted_ one of us must."

I couldn't believe my ears. He felt guilty about having killed _Jacob?_

"That man couldn't have been allowed to live, MacLeod," Pierson said in the same calm, firm voice.

"No? He was more insane than evil."

"No! He _was_ mad, that's true. But the Quickenings he'd taken in the Sanctuary made him a greater threat than Kronos ever was."

I remembered from the Chronicle that Kronos was a three-thousand-year-old megalomaniac Duncan had killed. The story had seemed to have a lot of gaps, and I wondered if Pierson had played a part in it.

"There was no way Kell could have been stopped," Pierson continued, "short of killing him."

"He meant to go on killing on holy ground," I put in. "He actually talked about 'cleansing' it by wiping out all the Immortals who'd taken refuge there."

Dawson cringed. "That would have been a disaster. And not just for clergy! Most Immortals wouldn't fight if they were caught on holy ground. Out of reverence - even if they'd learned there was no penalty."

"_You_ wouldn't, MacLeod," Pierson pointed out. "If you'd followed Kell into a convent where he planned to murder Immortal nuns, you would have frozen, stood there and let him do it. He had to be stopped _now_."

Duncan buried his face in his hands and moaned. At last he looked up and said slowly, "What bothers me most is that I...slipped into..._hating_ him."

That admission seemed to stun his old friends.

But Pierson recovered quickly. "Listen to me! In spite of the things you've been through these last few years, the role you've had to play, you're still _human_. We humans can't help feeling some emotions we don't want.

"What you _felt_ isn't important. What matters is what you _did_, and why you did it. You didn't kill Jacob Kell for revenge. You killed him to protect the world."

Duncan asked again, "Did I?" His voice was hollow.

"Consider this," Pierson responded. "Suppose I had been able to take his head before you got there. Shot him and whacked him, with no more concern for the rules than he'd shown in whacking others.

"Would you have hated me for robbing you of his Quickening? Making Connor's sacrifice to strengthen you count for nothing?"

Duncan recoiled as if he'd been struck.

But then a light dawned in his eyes. "No," he whispered. "I'd be thankful that you were still alive. That I _hadn't_ been forced to do it."

He looked at his friend, and for the first time, I saw the ghost of a smile.

x

x

x

A half hour later he was asleep. Still on the sofa; the bed he'd shared with Faith held too many memories.

His Watcher was drinking the beer he hadn't touched.

Dawson emptied the can and said quietly, "I didn't want to tell Mac this - he had enough on his mind. But he's not the only one who killed a man tonight."

Pierson looked up from his own beer - his fourth. "What?"

Dawson made a face. "While Mac and Kell were fighting, Matthew Hale was planning to shoot them both and snatch them for a new Sanctuary. He was camped out in a building down the street - had a high-powered rifle with a telescopic sight.

"I'm sure he'd gone renegade. But I couldn't take even a slight risk of other Watchers' learning Mac had fought Kell. So I didn't just stop Hale, I stopped him _permanently_. Like they say, terminated with extreme prejudice."

Matthew Hale.

It was _Matthew Hale_ who'd been messing with my lock?

I almost blurted something out.

But then I saw Pierson's face.

He already knew what I'd been about to tell him. And he wasn't planning to share it with Joe.

Watcher Matthew Hale had been a pre-Immortal.

x

x

x

_**Epilogue**_

Two weeks later I was once again in a car driven by Adam Pierson. But this time the other passenger was Joe Dawson, and we were in Paris.

I'd spent those weeks with Pierson. Back in the States, it had taken him less than twenty-four hours to get a passport that identified me as a citizen of Guyana. Since then I'd been hiding in his London mansion. Pierson had explained that he'd amassed a quick fortune in software development. That enabled him to live well, without betraying the fact that he'd been making shrewd investments since before the reign of the first Elizabeth.

He called his software company Cutting Edge.

And yes, he was also the proud owner of a California vineyard - named, at least ostensibly, for the software company. I never told him he'd lost a fan with the death of Jacob Kell.

x

x

x

While we were in England, Joe Dawson had been at a secluded resort in Jamaica. Hopefully, he'd convinced the Watchers Duncan MacLeod had been there as well, taking a much-needed rest.

In fact, Duncan had traveled to Scotland to bury Connor's remains with those of his first wife. He'd known all along he'd be able to claim the body. The NYPD had identified it - not as Connor MacLeod, but as Russell Nash, whom they'd fingerprinted in '85. All they knew about Nash was that he'd dropped out of sight after turning his antique shop over to his assistant, Rachel Ellenstein. She had later taken on a partner, Connor MacLeod. But he'd disappeared after her death, and his cousin Duncan had paid taxes on the building ever since. Not knowing of anyone else who might have been acquainted with Nash, the police contacted Duncan. He told them he'd never met the man, but would gladly assume responsibility for his burial for the sake of their mutual friend Rachel.

x

x

x

Jacob's body hadn't been found; the second fire in the Kathedral had been officially written off as "set by pranksters." Of course, no one who'd seen the Quickening lightning would believe that. But on weekend nights in a non-residential neighborhood, neither of the Kathedral Quickening extravaganzas could have been seen by many people.

x

x

x

I now knew that Matthew Hale and his men had actually grabbed Duncan once, after his plunge from the loft. Dawson and Pierson had seen it. They couldn't risk following Hale's vehicle on lightly-traveled country roads; but from the direction it was headed, they knew it was bound for the monastery. They rescued Duncan a few days later, and Pierson even retrieved his sword.

The original Sanctuary had been an officially sanctioned Watcher operation, though only known to a select few. But Dawson couldn't believe their Tribunal would endorse seizing an Immortal against his will - at least, not without knowing he'd learned the holy ground secret. That was why he was sure Hale and his fanatical supporters had turned renegade. Hale undoubtedly _had_ realized at some point that Duncan knew the secret; but if he'd been out of contact with the organization, they were still in the dark. They didn't know Connor MacLeod and Jacob Kell were dead, or that Duncan had encountered either of them.

Pierson and I had told MacLeod Dawson had "killed" Hale, and we'd agreed not to tell him he might have made a bad situation worse. We couldn't guess how Hale would react to discovering he was Immortal. But he hadn't seen the outcome of Duncan's fight with Jacob. If he was out of touch with the Watchers and not able to hack into their files, he didn't know whether Duncan MacLeod was still alive.

x

x

x

Anyway, Dawson had timed his return to Paris for the same day as MacLeod's. Duncan had e-mailed Pierson and asked him to come over too, and bring me along. He said he now felt able to talk about some things he'd learned from Connor's Quickening. And the three of us - that included Dawson - had been of such help to him that we deserved to hear the whole story.

Pierson was puzzled by his not having suggested we meet in London. The Watchers didn't know Pierson was an Immortal, but they did know he was a friend of MacLeod's. The Highlander's paying him another visit on his way home from Jamaica wouldn't have caused any raised eyebrows.

On the other hand, my going outdoors at all was a risk. The Watchers knew what Jacob's henchmen looked like and wanted to kill us. But I told Pierson it was okay. I was going stir crazy. I wanted to stay alive, but being holed up forever - even in a mansion - wasn't _being_ alive.

x

x

x

"I think Mac wants to show you his place, Manny," Dawson said as we drove along the bank of the Seine. "That's a sign he really thinks of you as a friend."

I looked around. "He lives on a barge, right?" We were on the fringe of the city, in another of those non-residential areas dominated by recently constructed office complexes. We hadn't passed any houseboats for miles.

"Yeah," Dawson replied. He apparently thought I'd meant that was nothing to get excited about, because he continued, "There's more to see than the boat. He used to keep it moored at the Quai de la Tournelle, but he moved a few years ago because too many enemies knew where to find him. It wasn't fair to guests.

"Out here, he was able to buy a piece of land on the riverbank. He has it landscaped. Features a collection of sculptures by his great love, Tessa Noel - that's where he meditates every day. Come spring he'll have a flower garden too."

Pierson snickered. "Good work, Joe. You did a great job of spoiling the surprise."

Dawson harrumphed, and I said, "I'm glad he did. I hate sculpture, but I'll know I'm supposed to admire this stuff and act impressed."

We were all laughing until, suddenly, Pierson slammed on the brake. "What the hell -?"

x

x

x

I looked at Dawson, and saw that he too was agape.

"What's the matter?" There were no buildings in sight, no boats, no other cars. Just a stretch of riverbank with a still-thriving crop of autumn weeds. "I don't see anything."

"Problem is, we _should_ be seeing something." Pierson started the car and drove a few yards more, then pulled over to the side of the road. He jumped out and began walking along the bank, occasionally kicking the unoffending plant life.

He seemed stunned.

Dawson also struggled out of the car, and I followed. "It was here," Dawson said in a bewildered voice. "Right here."

"What was?" I demanded.

"MacLeod's barge!" Pierson was almost shouting.

I gulped.

"He could have moved it..." I let my voice trail off as I belatedly saw why that explanation wouldn't work.

Dawson spelled it out. "The barge, yeah. Even the sculptures. But all this property was landscaped! I saw it less than a month ago, and now it looks like it hasn't been touched in years. This is...weird."

"Oh, bloody hell," Pierson said. Then he let out what I assumed was a string of oaths in a language I'd never heard. "There _is_ another Immortal here. Feel him, Manny?"

I stopped to consider it and realized I did. Pierson's presence had been masking the other one.

"Yeah, you're right." I began looking around, thinking Duncan must be lying injured somewhere. But there was nothing that could have blocked my view of a man on the ground.

In the _water?_

Pierson cursed again, then strode over to the bank. "Not funny, MacLeod," he said in a hard, angry voice. "Are you going to let me see the bloody gangplank, or do I have to stand here and _feel_ for it all afternoon?" To my amazement, he stuck a foot out and began "feeling" for where an invisible gangplank might have been.

I was more amazed when a gangplank actually did swim into view. Pierson's guess at its location had only been off by about three feet.

A moment later the entire barge appeared as a shimmering vision, then solidified before my eyes. Duncan MacLeod, standing at the head of the gangplank, said, "Not meant to be funny."

x

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x

Ten minutes later - after I'd said polite things about the sculptures that materialized along with the barge - we were settled in the main cabin. But I couldn't shake the thought that it might vanish any second and dump me in the Seine.

Pierson was still glowering. "You brought us here for _this_, MacLeod? To show off what you've become?"

"No!" I could see Duncan was distressed at having upset his friend. "I haven't changed, and I won't. I swear it.

"But I wanted to give you a glimpse, just a glimpse, of the powers Jacob Kell was close to mastering. And I couldn't risk startling you like that anywhere but on my own property.

"_That_ power is one Cassandra had." He glanced at me. "Sorry, Manny, you don't know who I'm talking about. An Immortal who saved my life when I was a child. She could make people - groups of people - look right at her hut and not see it. Even perceive _her_ as a wolf.

"But in modern times, she let her powers atrophy. I'll do the same. I won't even experiment with anything beyond what I just did, and I won't repeat that."

He looked at Pierson again, pleading for understanding. "I just wanted to show you what we could have been dealing with. Can you imagine trying to fight an invisible Immortal?"

Pierson shuddered. "I don't like to think about it."

"What I'm really saying" - Duncan gripped the older man's arm - "is that _you were right_. I had no choice but to kill him when I did. I know that now."

All Pierson said was "Oh."

But the warmth was back in his voice.

x

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x

We relaxed with drinks - a choice of Scotch or beer, no Cutting Edge in sight - and Duncan whipped up a pasta dinner. That came as a pleasant surprise to me; the others had been well aware of his culinary talents.

While we were lingering over coffee, he finally raised the subject of Jacob's vendetta. "Manny, I suppose you've been wondering whether Connor really did start the whole thing by murdering a priest."

Actually, I hadn't been wondering - I'd taken it for granted. Why would Jacob have let his own life be so horribly disrupted, for centuries, if he didn't have a legitimate grievance?

Of course I didn't say that.

"Connor didn't defend himself to me," Duncan said softly. "Didn't tell me anything while he was alive. But I learned from his Quickening that it was much more complicated.

"The people of Glenfinnan had driven him out, calling him a demon. Years later, when their crops failed, they needed a scapegoat - so they blamed his mother. His adoptive mother, though they didn't know that. They claimed _she_ was in league with demons. Connor knew she was in danger and slipped into the village to save her. But they beat him into unconsciousness and burned her alive. On a cross."

"My God," I whispered.

I too had once had a mother.

"Father Rainey - the priest who'd raised Jacob Kell - was pretty much the ringleader. And Kell didn't take heroic risks to stop it." Duncan's voice shook with emotion. "But things weren't as black and white as Connor thought. He knew the two priests were better educated than the rest of the villagers - and he and Jacob had grown up as friends. He was sure those priests didn't really believe he was a demon or allied with demons.

"I can't be sure about Rainey. But I know from Kell's Quickening that he did believe it. He _didn't_ believe Connor's mother was evil. He thought that if Connor was a demon, an incubus might have molested Caoilin in her sleep and made her pregnant. He also thought Connor might be a normal human who was so afraid of dying in battle that he'd made a pact with the Devil - again, no fault of Caoilin's.

"Kell did try to save Caoilin. He won Rainey's agreement to a compromise - that she'd be spared if she'd agree to say Connor was not her own child. He thought he was asking her to tell a small, harmless lie. It was really the truth - but she still refused to say it. Kell felt he'd done all he could. And who knows - I don't think any of us can say for sure what _we_ would have done, facing a crazed sixteenth-century mob.

"Connor broke out of the cell where they'd been holding him, tried desperately to save his mother - and failed. He was half out of his mind at that point. When someone began urging him to leave his mother's body, he spun around and struck out at the person without looking. And _that_ was when he killed the unarmed priest."

We sat in stunned silence.

Indeed that was "more complicated" than Jacob had led me to believe.

When Duncan resumed his story, he surprised me again. "Kell grabbed a sword and charged Connor. And Connor, still not thinking clearly, ran him through.

"That day, he'd realized for the first time that Kell was a pre-Immortal! When he saw what he'd done, he was appalled. But he had to decide whether to carry his dead mother's body off with him, or Kell's. He chose his mother.

"In later years, he never blamed himself for having killed Father Rainey - or for having given Kell his first death. He could plead temporary insanity on both counts. But he'd come to his senses after that. And he never _forgave _himself for having abandoned that newly made Immortal. It haunted him all the days of his life."

I was the first to find my voice. "When Jacob came to understand Immortality, he thought that if Connor had known what he was, he would have beheaded him."

Duncan shook his head. "There was never a chance of that. Connor believed he should have taken him as a student."

"Jacob's having a teacher would have changed everything," I mused. "Everything! But it never occurred to him that Connor could have been that teacher."

Duncan could only murmur, "I know."

x

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x

He had yet another bombshell to drop.

The biggest of all.

"Connor didn't think Kell had survived long," he told us. "And he certainly didn't suspect him of being his mystery enemy, because the murders didn't start till late in the seventeenth century. I know now that in those early years, Kell had been afraid Connor had magical powers he didn't." The pain written on his face told me he was thinking of the powers Jacob himself had so recently won - and lost to him. "Connor, of course, never imagined such a thing.

"But in 1987, Connor had a Watcher who respected and admired him. Dana Brook. She was almost as devastated as he was when Brenda was murdered.

"Brook couldn't bear the thought of anything like that happening again. So she violated her oath. She revealed herself to Connor. Told him about the Watchers - _and about Kell_."

Joe Dawson practically erupted out of his seat. "She did _what?_"

I was thinking less of Brook's oath-breaking than of what it implied about Connor.

And I wasn't alone. "He knew?" Pierson whispered. His face was ashen. "He learned Kell had murdered his wife. But he did nothing. And later, he knew Kell must have been the one who'd murdered his daughter. But he still did nothing. He went into the Sanctuary instead of going after him..."

"Yes," Duncan said bleakly. "Because of the guilt he felt over what he'd done to Kell. That was why he welcomed the idea of the Sanctuary. He knew he'd never be able to change his mind, give in to the temptation to seek revenge." I saw his fist clench. "But Matthew Hale knew about Kell too, and he wasn't aware Connor knew. Brook didn't dare tell him she'd broken her oath. I think his urging Connor into the Sanctuary was criminal."

None of us had any argument with that.

"So that was why Connor made you take his head?" Pierson asked gently. "Because of the...sin on his conscience?"

Duncan nodded. "Yes. He knew by then that Kell had to be stopped, and only our combined strength could do it. He insisted on being the one to die." His voice sank to a whisper. "The only reason I agreed to kill him was to save his Quickening. I knew he wouldn't defend himself against the Watchers.

"I didn't think I'd need his strength to defeat Kell.

"But he was right. I did."

x

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x

After that we stopped drinking coffee.

x

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x

Duncan still had a different kind of surprise in store for me. Hours later, when we were all feeling loose, he said, "Hey, Manny, I had another reason for wanting to see you. I know you have a problem on your hands, needing to dodge the Watchers."

I grunted. "Too bad plastic surgery isn't an option for Immortals."

"I think I have a better idea than plastic surgery." His eyes were twinkling. "Have you ever heard the expression, hide in plain sight?"

x

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x

And that's how I came to my present employment - as manager of a legit business in the United States, a dojo called De Salvo's Martial Arts. I'm doing what I love. Offering more real instruction than anyone else has done here since Charlie De Salvo's death; we're actually in the black.

I anticipate a long, happy life. After all, what Watcher would expect to find a member of Jacob Kell's gang _working for Duncan MacLeod?_

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The End

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_**Author's Afterword:**_ _Of course, it's also permissible to use a first-person narrator who __**doesn't**__ die in the end! (grins)_

_This fic is based primarily on the theatrical version of _Endgame_ (the Sanctuary is on holy ground, Faith is killed), but there are borrowings from the other versions. In inventing elements of my own, I tried to work around what we saw onscreen without actually contradicting it._

_We do not, in any version__**,**__ see a close-up of Manny as he's about to be whacked. (Though we do see it in the "Special Effects" feature on the DVD.) I know the filmmakers' intent was that Manny dies in between Bob and Winston, while the camera is on Duncan MacLeod at another location. But if we don't see it, I don't accept it as canon._

_I couldn't resist ending Manny's story as I did, because actor Vernon Rieta is or was Adrian Paul's martial arts instructor._

_I changed the name of Connor's mother because, based on my knowledge of __**Irish**__ names, "Caoilin" looks more right to me than "Caiolin." I know there's an Irish feminine name Caoilfhionn (meaning "slender and fair"), rendered in English as Keelin._

_I had two things in mind in naming that famous hotel the Phoenix. You'll understand one if you've read, or do read, my _Endgame_ sequel "Land of My Birth."_

_The other consideration was more personal. My mother had a childhood sweetheart who died at about age eight, and his family operated a historic hotel in our home town - the Phoenix Hotel._


End file.
